New Beginnings
by MADharmony
Summary: Long awaited Chapter 21 is POSTED! Post OotP fanfic, 6th year and HHr romance. Harry deals with his decided future, complicated feelings about Hermione, and the return of Lord Voldemort. Thanks to everyone who has reviewed! Please Read and Review!
1. Much Awaited Salvation

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters mentioned in this fanfiction. Harry Potter and all characters from the Harry Potter Series are property of J.K. Rowling.

**New Beginnings**

**Chapter One: Much Awaited Salvation**

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            Harry slowly turned a page of _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 5 trying to understand that after only two weeks of being at Number 4 Privet Drive he could have completely forgotten everything about Vanishing Charms. _

            He looked up at the quiet living room. Uncle Vernon was sitting in his very old and overstuffed leather armchair with the morning's paper held close to his face. His tiny beady eyes were moving back and forth quickly, his mouth slightly open. Aunt Petunia was slowly and meticulously cleaning every one of her long finger nails, something she had been doing for the last 30 minutes. Dudley was no where to be seen but Harry knew he was once again roaming the streets around Privet Drive looking for his prey of 11 year old children.

            Harry took this moment to savor the simple pleasure of being able to do what he wanted. He still could hardly believe he was reading one of his schoolbooks in the presence of his Aunt and uncle. This normally would have been strictly forbidden in the Dursley household but ever since he, Harry was picked up at Kings Cross Station all that had changed since his aunt and uncle were now too scared to even look at him.

            Harry smiled to himself, reminiscing about the look on Aunt Petunia's face when she saw the crowd of wizards who came to talk to her about Harry. Harry smile vanished in an instant. Yes it only been two weeks at Privet Drive but Harry was growing more and more unhappy now that he was confined to the dull Muggle world he once thought was his only home. 

            Harry looked back down to his book once again immersing himself in the complicated theories which now seemed so distant to him. After another half hour, giving up on getting anything else done that night he climbed the steps to his bedroom. When he opened his door he received a surprise, there was an owl perched on his bed post which he instantly recognized as Pigwedgeon, Ron Weasley's owl. Harry rushed over to the now bouncing owl and detached a scroll from the owl's leg. He unrolled it quickly:

_Hey mate,_

_            Great news!! Your not gonna believe this but we got the OK to go ahead and get you out of the hellhole you call home. We are all heading over to the same place as last year. I hope your ok with that? It's not safe at my place anymore, but I shouldn't say more right now. Anyway someone should be coming to your place tomorrow so be ready. I can't wait to see you and Hermione is coming too! Hold on one more day, mate!! See you soon!_

_                                                                        Ron_

            Harry hesitated. They were going back to Number 12 Grimmuald Place. The place where Sirius grew up, the place he left to come to Harry's aid….

            Harry shook his head. Every waking moment, and most other moments all Harry could dwell on was his late godfather. Always reliving the look on his face as he fell threw the veil in the Department of Mysteries. The way the laughter was not gone from his face as he left this world….

            This was not a time to dwell on things like that. He was just going to have to suck it up because anything was better than spending the rest of the summer at Privet Drive. He strode over to the desk next to his wardrobe and began piling parchment and books in to his trunk and emptying out his wardrobe. He spent the rest of the night reading _Quidditch through the Ages as had become custom with him every night so he would not fall asleep and dream about the things he tried so hard not to think about. However he had not ever not fallen asleep as exhaustion always overtook him at some point and he would sink in to a restless sleep full of high laughter and Sirius's face falling through the veil and Harry screaming with all his heart to let him go and save the only person he could call a parent…._

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            Harry awoke with a start, cold sweat clinging to his body and his scar prickling. It took him a moment to realize exactly what had woken him up when he heard the shrill screech of his Aunt downstairs. Bolting out of bed he ran to his door and wrenched it open the door and ran to the steps. It was immediately evident what had caused his aunt's screaming. Mad-Eye Moody, Nymphadora Tonks, and Remus Lupin were all standing in the entrance way looking up at him; all three Dursleys were cowering in a corner next to a plastic plant.

            He suddenly remembered with a sense of amusement he had forgotten to tell his aunt and uncle that some unusual company would be arriving today. Smiling, he went down to greet them. 

            Tonks' eyebrows were raised, and Remus was looking down at his feet suppressing a smirk. Harry suddenly realized with a jolt that he was still in his pajama bottoms without a shirt on which he must have taken off sometime during the night.

            Harry blushed and mumbled, "Be right back." and dashed up the stairs to his room. Highly embarrassed Harry looked out his window, realizing that it must be at least 11:00 in the morning and should have been up and fully dressed hours ago. He glanced at himself in the mirror. His hair was rumpled and his pajamas were wrinkled and it was obvious that they hadn't been washed for a fortnight. His chest was too pale and hairless for Harry's liking and his arms looked gangly and sinewy from months of hard Quidditch training. Turning away, Harry grabbed the white undershirt and blue plaid shirt he had laid out last night and threw them over his head. He descended down the stairs a minute later fully dressed and dragging his trunk and his owl, Hedwig's, cage. The Dursley's were still hovering around the corner apparently still afraid that one of the visitors might whip out a wand and turn them into hyenas. 

            "Hello Harry," said Lupin striding over and embracing him in a hug, "good to see you."

            "Hey Harry!" said Tonks smiling warmly at him and helping him carry his trunk. 

            Moody merely grunted, his magical eye watching the Dursley's closely and his right hand twitching near his hip, as though he wished he could bring out his wand. 

            "So you ready to leave?" Remus asked turning to the door, clearly wanting to make a quick exit. Tonks' had taken his trunk and charmed it to hover 3 inches off the ground. Aunt Petunia was watching it warily as though it might attack her if she looked away.

            "Yeah," said Harry slowly and turned to face the Dursley's. He felt as if he needed to say something to them. Especially Aunt Petunia as he had learned from Dumbledore that she had at least been decent enough to take him in as a child when he had been left on her doorstep and she was after all was his mother's sister.

            He walked forward his hand extended, toward the Dursley's. Uncle Vernon and Dudley moved against the wall as one, but Aunt Petunia stayed rooted to the ground staring at Harry's hand. Harry didn't know if she would react positively to this gesture of companionship and was more surprised when, instead of shaking his hand she stepped closer and kissed him quickly on the cheek and turned away, not looking at him.        Everyone's eyes: Tonks', Lupin's, Moody's, Uncle Vernon's, Harry's, and Dudley's eyes all went wide in shock. This was certainly an unprecedented sign of affection from his Aunt. Harry could not recall a time in his life where he had ever been kissed by his aunt. Harry stood rooted to the spot staring dumbly at her when Lupin cleared his throat. Dudley and Uncle Vernon were staring at Aunt Petunia while she stared determinedly at the plastic plant as though if she looked at it long enough it would become real. 

            Harry turned away and walked to the door opening it for Tonks so she could navigate his trunk through. Lupin strode after her followed closely by Moody. Harry moved forward and glanced back at the Dursley's. This time Aunt Petunia was not staring at the plant but was looking at him straight in the eye with a look he had only seen once before, which was last summer. Her eyes looked pleading as though all hope for her happiness rested with him. Harry found it hard to look away but finally nodded to her and then strode out the door.

            Parked in the drive way was a highly polished black car with tinted windows that looked as if it would be used to escort the Prime Minister. Getting more confused with the appearance of the car Harry heard the distinct and all too familiar voice of Uncle Vernon ring across the lawn. 

            "WHAT THE BLOODY HELL WAS THAT?!" Harry shook his head wondering exactly what Uncle Vernon was asking. What in the world was that?

            "Professor? What is this car for? We're not taking are we?" asked Harry, getting slightly worried since he doubted any wizard had a driver's license or could let alone drive. 

            "They're Ministry cars." Lupin said smiling down at him. Harry stared up at him. It was a mark of how much the Ministry was cooperating with Dumbledore's secret society the Order of the Phoenix. It was maybe only 3 weeks ago that Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic, had accepted that the most terrible dark wizard of the last century had indeed risen again. The wizard who had killed Harry's parents…

            Harry's parents had once belonged to the Order of the Phoenix until one Halloween night Lord Voldemort came to his parent's house and killed them. He, Harry, had only been a baby and had only survived when Voldemort tried to kill him by the sacrifice of his mother. It was until just recently that Harry understood why Voldemort tried to kill him in the first place. It was all because of a prophecy made some 16 years ago… It was perhaps the only other thing he thought about as much as his godfather. 

_"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches…_

_Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies…_

_And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not…_

_And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives…_

_The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies…"_

            So Harry was faced with the horrible knowledge that his future was decided. He would either be a murderer or a victim of one, neither which he found appealing.

            Clearing his mind he walked toward the car and driver in a green button down suit dashed forward and opened the back seat door for him smiling cheekily at him. Harry stepped in and was surprised to see what looked like the spacious interior of quite long stretch limousine. The dark, rich leather interior, Harry realized, could have only been created to fit in this car by magic. A moment later Tonks and Lupin stepped into the car while Mad-Eye opened the door to the driver's passenger seat. Lupin settled himself next to Harry while Tonks sat on the opposite side of him and suddenly contorted her face to a serious expression. To his left, Remus was looking at him grimly.

            "We have a lot of things to tell you now Harry." Lupin began. "No doubt Dumbledore has already explained a lot of it to you. You understand about the prophecy don't you?" Harry nodded. "Good. Well then you will understand that the rest of the Order and I will be helping you build up you skills, by skills I mean skills that will help you defeat Voldemort."

            Harry stared at him. They were actually going to train him to go against the most terrible and powerful wizard of this century? This had never occurred to Harry. He had been dwelling so long about his decided future and Sirius that he had never thought about actually trying to defeat Voldemort. The idea even to him sounded crazy and ludicrous. A fifteen year old versus Lord Voldemort?

            "I know what you're thinking. It's not going to be easy but you understand how important this is. We are not saying you are going to fight Voldemort this year or anything; we simply want to get you prepared. Because if Voldemort wins, if he doesn't die….." Lupin shuddered involuntarily. 

            Harry suddenly felt as though an enormous burden was put on him. It was up him to save them, all of them, all the wizarding populations. Just as suddenly Harry felt a pang of injustice, of anger. Why did it have to be him? Why did everything happen to him? Why did Voldemort choose him? He could have chosen anyone born at the end of July. Why couldn't he have chosen Neville…?

            Harry cursed himself. No, no. He would not wish his ordeal on anyone else, especially not someone like Neville. He had been through as much pain as Harry, maybe more, for Neville's parents were tortured into insanity bye Voldemort's Deatheaters. No he would not wish this on Neville.

            The car shuddered signaling they were moving and set off at a speed much too fast for Harry's comfort. 

            "Obviously there is a lot of work to do," Lupin continued. "We are going to train you in everything we know and Dumbledore will be helping you at Hogwarts. I will start you off by teaching you the dark arts. I'm afraid you will have to learn some very powerful Dark spells… Tonks will be teaching you to see if you have the skills to be a Metamorphmagus. Alastor will be teaching you about Pain Deflection. That's teaching you how to throw off pain from certain spells, even the Cruciatus Curse. Dumbledore will continue your Occlumeny lessons you'll be happy to hear, instead of Snape."

            Harry smiled at this. He would rather be fed to a box of Blast-Ended Skewrets than go through another one of Snape's Occlumency lessons.

            "And oh yes. Professor McGonagall will be teaching you to become an Animagus…"

            "A what?" cried Harry. He barely dared to believe his ears.

            "An Animagus." Lupin said, chuckling softly. "Just like you father," He added fondly.

            Harry couldn't believe it. An Animagus was a wizard who could transform into an animal. He knew it took years and years of practicing, for his father and Sirius had too been Animagi too, though they had learned illegally.

            "Wow!" he said softly. Then another thought occurred to him. If he was to be an Animagus would the Order tell the Ministry? Was the Order cooperating well enough with the Ministry that they would be told Harry would be learning to be an Animagus?

            "Professor? Are we going to tell the Ministry about all this training I will be receiving?" Harry ventured.

            "We are still deciding that. Fudge is cooperating well enough but only reluctantly. It's a wonder to me how he still can be when he saw Voldemort himself right in his precious Ministry." Lupin said bitterly looking out the window at Muggle Suburbia.

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That's all for now. Hope you enjoyed. Next chapter coming very soon. ~Michelle AD


	2. Forgetting to Think

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters mentioned in this fanfiction. Harry Potter and all characters from the Harry Potter Series are property of J.K. Rowling.

**New Beginnings**

**Chapter Two: Forgetting to Think**

            It seemed like no time had passed when the Ministry car pulled up into an ugly and dingy sort of road in the heart of London. Seeing the looming form of Number 12 Grimmuald Place was almost too hard to bear as a twinge of despair went threw Harry's stomach. He could not suppress the overwhelming feeling that life was all too unfair. Sirius, who had been betrayed by Peter Pettigrew, someone who he had once called a friend, faked his death, which eventually lead to Sirius' incarceration for 12 years for a crime which he did not commit; the crime of killing 13 people with a single curse. Breaking out of the horrid wizard jail Azkaban he still had no relief as he spent 2 years on the run with the constant fear of being discovered. It was in Harry's 3rd year when he learned of Sirius and his connection to his parents. He had thought that Sirius Black was an escaped murderer who had betrayed his parents by telling Voldemort of their whereabouts. He had had no idea that Sirius had been framed and that it had really been Peter, a true Death Eater, who had betrayed his parents and who had really killed the 12 people. 

            And now all too soon, after only knowing his godfather for 2 years he was dead. The closet thing Harry had to a parent. Harry had never felt more alone, more abandoned, never wanting more to escape to find something, someone who could relieve all this pain… but there no one left to turn too. He was alone.

            He walked slowly behind Lupin, watching his feet instead of looking up into the house of his godfather's as they walked the long walkway to the door with the entwining snake on it. 

            The entrance hall was quite how he remembered it. It was dark and dank with moldy floorboards and threadbare rugs though he did notice there was nothing whatsoever on the walls he remembered had been covered with morbid pictures and Dark artifacts. He looked to his left and realized that the portrait of Sirius' mother was no where to be seen. There we long scorch marks where the portrait had once hung, and Harry got the impression that it had been burned off.

            "Harry, I should mention something now that you are here. Sir…Sirius was the last of the Blacks and… and when h-he realized that if he well died," Lupin stammered looking at an ugly umbrella stand which Harry recognized from his last Christmas here. "that there would be no one to inherit this house…" He hesitated again. "What I mean to say is… Harry he left Grimmuald Place to you. This is your house, everything in it is yours."

            Harry stared at the scorch marks on the wall. What Lupin had just said was sinking slowly into him. This was his house. He couldn't think of any other place he would less want to be involved with, not even Privet Drive. He clenched his fists and closed his eyes. He could feel Tonks', Lupin's, and at least one of Moody's eyes on him. 

            Searching desperately for a change of subject he said what first came to mind. "Are Ron and Hermione here yet?"

            "Yes I think they're all upstairs," Tonks replied quietly.

            Harry moved toward the stairs when Moody stopped him. "Hold on, Potter. We know this is going to be a hard summer for you but you need to be strong now, I know that's what Sirius' would have wanted." 

            Harry looked away, his heart thumping painfully in his throat. Hearing Moody talk about Sirius that way… in the past tense like that seemed to drive something home for Harry. He was never going to see Sirius again and Moody was telling him to suck it up.

            "Anyway, I'll be teaching you about Pain Deflection tomorrow morning." He hobbled away toward the kitchen in the back of the house. Tonks was looking downcast and Lupin looked as if wished he could say something. 

            Harry left his trunk at the foot of the stairs and ascended the stairs as quickly as he could without giving the impression that he would rather run up the stairs away from them all. All he wanted to do was to be alone, to think but to forget, to forget everything that was eating him alive making feel empty and alone…

            "Harry?" said a voice from the second floor landing. He saw bushy head poke out of an open door; it was unmistakably his best friend Hermione's head. She came rushing forward when she saw him but suddenly stopped seeing the pained expression on his face. Harry hesitated and slowly looked into her face trying to convey all the pain he was feeling and the abandonment he had been drowning in. It was one of those moment's Harry knew where words would be useless. Hermione seemed to think so too as she stepped forward and enveloped him in a gentle hug. 

            Harry felt something course through him. An unmistakable feeling of warmth, of safety, of something he couldn't place. Recovering, he clung to her and let his grief wash off him onto Hermione who stood strong stroking the back of his hair. It seems ages until the parted. Hermione's eyes were shining and she gave him a small smile, which Harry realized with a shock that he was able to return.

            "Where's you trunk?" she asked softly.

            "Downstairs."

            "I'll help you get it. C'mon." she said heading down the stairs.

            Harry followed her bushy head and together the climbed the stairs again to Ron's and Harry's room. Hermione opened the door and Harry received another shock. It was the same room Harry had slept in his last summer here but oh so different. The drapery and bed curtains were a deep rich red and looked brand new. There was also a plush rug on the ground which featured ever-entwining golden vines. The great cherry wardrobe was newly polished and the portrait of Sirius' great-great grandfather, Phineas Nigellus, was looking at him with what looked like a genuine smile. 

            "Harry!" said a voice from across the room. Ron came striding forward and pulled him into a gruff one-armed hug. "When did you get here?" 

            "Just now." Harry said smiling as he released him. "Wow! What happened to this place?"

            "Compliments of Fred and George." Ron said smirking. "You will not believe how well that joke shop of theirs in doing. I'd say in a few years we'll be bloody rich! But the best part is that Mum has no problem with it anymore." said Ron chuckling.

            Hermione dragged Harry's trunk to his bedpost and she plopped down on his bed. Harry moved over to sit next to her but Ron cut in front of him instead and sat next to Hermione. Harry turned and sat on Ron's bed vaguely confused to why Ron hadn't let him sit on his bed.

            "So the joke shop is doing well huh?" Harry said conversationally.

            "Yep. All is well here…" he trailed off for three more people had just entered the room, Ron's twin brothers Fred and George and his younger sister Ginny. 

            "Harry!" cried Fred throwing himself down next to Harry while Ginny sat herself to Harry's right. George however crammed his way between Ron and Hermione as though this were the only place he could find to sit. Ron looked slightly miffed.

            "I was just telling Harry 'bout you too." Ron said.

            "None of its true!" said Fred to Harry laughing. Harry looked over at the two. Both were wearing what looked like new jeans with high collared Rugby shirts. He was becoming more and more aware of exactly how good business must being going.

            "I was just telling Fred that as soon as you get here, Harry, we should all go play some Quidditch." said George. "Ginny will half to play of course. Can't get her off a broom this one…" said George giving Ginny a disgruntled look. 

            Ginny, however, smiled broadly. "So what you say? Up for it?"

            Harry nodded eagerly. He could think of nothing else that would get rid of his melancholy spirits as a game of Quidditch.

            "Let me get my broom, its downstairs..." said Ron springing up from the bed. 

            "So is mine." said Ginny, she too getting up and following Ron.

            "I'll go put on my shoes…" Hermione said moodily walking much slower than either Ron or Ginny. Harry smiled to himself. He knew that Hermione wasn't much of a Quidditch fan as she frequently demonstrated to Ron and Harry.

            As Hermione closed the door behind her Fred sighed deeply.

            "That was smart thinking George. I'm not in the mood to start vomiting…"

            "What you mean?" said Harry looking perplexed. 

            "Splitting up Ronny and Hermione. I can't stand seeing Ron drool over her, its sickening…" said Fred.

            "What!" exclaimed Harry getting rapidly more confused. Ron drooling…?

            "Haven't you noticed? Ron's in looooooooove with poor Hermione." said George looking disgusted.

             Harry stared. Ron liked Hermione? When had this happened? How had he missed this?

            George looked suddenly worried. "You didn't know? Man, well you better hope they don't hook up that'd be awkward for you. But I wouldn't worry of course," he added hurriedly. "I don't think she likes him, we think…" he broke off smirking. Fred too was grinning.

            Harry still more than a little confused picked up his Firebolt and followed Fred and George out the door. At the bottom of the stairs Harry encountered Mrs. Weasley, who pulled into a great hug which Harry felt might have damaged his lungs, before proceeding down to the back lawn. It was full of tall grass mingled with an innumerable amount of dandelions. Hermione had already settled her self in an old rusty lawn chair, a book clasped in her hands. Ginny, Ron, and Ron's older brother Bill we in the middle of the lawn all waiting for them. 

            "Okay. We have already decided the teams," said Ginny taking charge. Harry was reminded of Hermione. "It's gonna be me, Harry, and Fred, no Beaters yeah know, and Ron, Bill, and George are on the other team."

            "Won't someone see?" said Harry thinking that any Muggles looking out their windows might find it strange to see six people on broomsticks in the lawn next door.

            "Nah," said Bill smiling. "Not with all the Invisibility Charms on this place. Of all the places to inherit this has gotta be the most secure…" Bill suddenly stopped looking stricken.

            "Yeah it is. Let's play some Quidditch." said Harry hurriedly wishing to stop any Sirius-related questions from coming.

            The rest of the Weasley's took Harry's lead and spread out over the lawn. In the next minute Ron and Fred were streaking toward opposite ends of the lawn, each guarding three levitated hullahoops. They were the Keepers. Ginny was training to try out for the Gryffindor Quidditch Team as a Chaser, something she liked better than Seeking, as she had played last year after Harry's temporary banishment from the game. Harry and Bill were playing the remaining positions as Seekers. Harry was surprised to find that the Weasleys, instead of using apples in place of the Snitch and an old soccer ball for the Quarffle, had the real balls this time. 

            Ginny seized the Quaffle and was already streaking toward Ron's goal. Ron flew hovering in front of the center goal, his brow furrowed in concentration. Ginny zigged over to the far left goal and Ron followed her progress. She raised her hand to throw the ball in the hoop and Ron raised his hand to block her. But suddenly, for Harry did not catch it, Ginny had flown under him and had scored in the far right hoop. She gave out a whoop of joy and zoomed around the lawn slapping Harry's and Fred's hands as she went. Harry smiled at her knowing she would probably be a wonderful chaser. Ron gave a furtive look toward the house.

            The game resumed. Ginny once again toke the Quaffle, George unable to stop her, as he was a much better Beater than a Chaser. She streaked over to Ron's end again. She had the Quaffle held high over her head as though to taunt Ron while he hovered motionless watching her with his eyes. She flew straight at him but Ron flew to the far left goal just as Ginny redirected her path toward that goal also. Ron intercepted the Quaffle in an amazing one-armed catch and held it over his head.

            "Did you see that!? Did you see that?!" cried Ron. "Can't say I'm a bad Keeper can you now George!" 

            He zoomed toward the ground and up again, as a continuation to his victory lap, whooping and punching the air as he went. Harry looked over at Hermione. She was immersed in her book which was propped up on her legs, her face completely hidden by her large quantities of bushy hair.

            "C'mon Ron! Throw the Quarffle!" Bill shouted looking frustrated. Harry had to agree. It was nice Ron saved the goal but it looked as if he wanted to tell the whole neighborhood. Ron finally threw and the ball and the game continued. Ginny was scoring her 6th goal when Harry saw a glint of gold out toward Ron that he knew must be the golden Snitch. Bill saw it too as he was much closer to it then Harry and he sped off. Harry threw himself down on his Firebolt quickly making up for Bill's head start. The Snitch was speeding away toward the ground and just before he descended to follow it he it he caught a glimpse of Ron. He was glaring directly at Harry his hands clenching his broom so tightly that his knuckles were white. He didn't even notice that Ginny was scoring threw the center hoop repeatedly. Harry hardly had time to think about that. Bill was ahead of him again, his hand a mere few inches from the elusive Snitch. Harry lurched forward with all his might and he and Bill were flying at a mere 15 feet off the ground, as Harry extended his arm growing closer and closer.

            It all happened in a flash, Harry flung himself off his broom and grabbed the Snitch, Bill's hand grabbing nothing, and he, Harry, tumbled to the ground into the tall grass and lay motionless face down.

            Off in the distance he heard Hermione's terrified voice, "Harry! Harry are you alright!?" She came pelting down beside him. He heard all the others land around him.

            "Harry! _Harry! Are you ok? Harry?" said Hermione as she flipped him over. He was… he was…_laughing.__

            Harry couldn't remember laughing harder as he looked up into Hermione's anxious face, the look of concern not quite gone from her eyes. Suddenly she looked furious.

            "Harry Potter don't you ever scare me like that again! _Ever!_" screeched Hermione. 

            Harry still laughing pulled her down across him. Hermione screamed. Everyone was laughing as Harry reached up and pulled down the person closest to him who was Fred. Fred pulled down Bill and Bill grabbed Ginny and George. Soon all them were rolling in the grass shrieking with laughter while blades of dead grass and dandelions attached to their hair. Harry looked over at Hermione. Her face was bright red, her hair was rumpled and there was a dandelion poking through her hair in the back but she was laughing hysterically. Harry was suddenly struck by the thought that she looked lovely…

            Ten minutes later all seven of them had entered the house kitchen for dinner. All of them with dirty and wrinkled clothes, scratched faces and messy hair. Mrs. Weasley raised her eyebrows at them, shook her head, and gestured to them to sit down. Also joining them for dinner was Mad-Eye Moody, Tonks, Lupin, and Mr. Weasley. 

            "Sit down. Hurry." said Mrs. Weasley distractedly. She pushed Harry down into a chair with George to his left and Hermione to his right. Bill, Fred, and Ron settled themselves in front of them.

            "Harry you're here! How are you?" said Mr. Weasley from the end of the table eyeing Harry's Muggle clothing with a keen interest…

             Half way through dinner, Charlie the second oldest Weasley child, arrived looking tired and flustered but smiled and shook Harry's hand when he saw him. He sat down next to Moody and hurriedly whispered to him while Moody's normal eye widened slowly.

            Meanwhile, Hermione was reaching across the table for a pitcher of soda near Ron's elbow. Ron, however, stood up quickly, grabbing the pitcher from Hermione.

            "I'll get it," said Ron trying to get Hermione to release the pitcher.

            "No, I got it. Ron, I got it! _Ron! " Hermione had tried to pull it out of his grasp just as Ron had let go. The pitcher fell with a clunk and soda splashed out of it onto Hermione's white blouse. Hermione, Tonks, and Ginny grimaced._

            "Oh my God, I'm sorry Hermione!" said Ron looking mortified.

            "Its ok," said Hermione through clenched teeth. It looked to Harry as if she was mustering as much self-control as she could to keep from yelling at Ron.

            "It's not that bad," said Tonks, looking pityingly at Ron. "Mrs. Weasley can probably get that out in the wash." Hermione looked however as though it was hardly a condolence.

            Ten minutes later. Harry was telling everyone around him about the first time his Aunt had given him a haircut. When he got to the part about how his Aunt shaved him bald, Hermione, Ginny, Tonks, Fred, and George all burst into laughter; Hermione was laughing hardest of all, clutching her chest with one hand and one hand on Harry's arm for support. Harry watched her, laughing with her. He looked up and suddenly stopped laughing. No one else was laughing at his story anymore. One of Bill's eyebrows was raised looking at the pair as was Ginny. The twins were both looking at Harry and Hermione smirking. Ron, though, was looking at his plate moving peas with his fork. Harry shook off Hermione's arm, not wanting Ron to get some wrong impression as everyone else seemed to be getting. Tonks, however, was looking at Harry with a pensive expression as she had all through his story.

            "Hey! Hey!" said Fred standing up and facing the table as though he was making an announcement, but with a worried look on his face. "Hey! Did anyone bring in the Snitch after the Quidditch game?"

            The Weasley's and Hermione all turned to look at Harry. Harry's eyes widened. He must have lost it during the wrestling in the grass.

            "Nah ah! You did not lose our brand new Snitch" cried Fred indignantly. "That was the first time we used it! Those things aren't cheap!"

            "I'm so sorry," said Harry hurriedly. "Look it's not that late. I'll go out and look for it." He quickly got up and grabbed his Firebolt by the door. 

            Twenty minutes later Harry was sitting on a lawn chair in the back yard looking up into the spectacular fuchsia and orange sunset. He still had not seen the Snitch and was starting to think he never would. Worst of all, being alone out here was allowing him time to think, something which he come to detest ever since last summer.

            Harry turned toward the house. Some one was striding toward him but seeing as the silhouette's seemed to have quite a lot of hair he had a feeling of who it was.

            "Harry, is that you?" said Hermione coming toward him carrying a thick book. 

            "Yeah," said Harry looking back at the sky. He wanted to find this thing as soon as he could so he could sleep as he had lessons with Moody tomorrow.

            "You're still out here?" she asked as she sat in the chair facing Harry. "I would have thought you'd have caught the thing ages ago, being the famous Harry Potter and a Quidditch player," she said smirking.

            "Yeah well at least I can fly," said Harry giving her a supercilious look.

            "You shouldn't be talking Harry Potter; I'm loads better than you at everything else," said Hermione with a look of mock offence.

            "Yeah, but I can fly," said Harry, smiling and turning away.

            Silence fell between them as Hermione opened her book and fiddled through the pages and Harry continued to stare up at the sky as it grew slowly darker.

            "You were right," Harry said abruptly five minutes later.

            "About what?"

            "About my saving-people thing," he said quietly.

            Hermione looked up at him. She opened her mouth uncertainly.

            "You were right," Harry said before she could say anything. "If it wasn't for my saving-people thing, Sirius wouldn't be dead." Harry realized what he just said. Sirius was dead. He had never said that before hoping somehow that if he never said it, it would not be true. But now in the twilight next to Hermione he realized he didn't mind talking about it. He didn't mind at all.

            Hermione still looked as though she didn't know what to say. Harry continued.

            "I guess I should also thank you. If you hadn't stopped me from running off and convinced me to take you, Ron, Neville, Luna, and Ginny, I probably would be dead now too."

            Hermione nodded slowly, a sad look on her face. "Just one for the many times you've saved mine, Harry."

            Harry looked at her. He had expected her to say something like what everyone else said after someone died, something like Moody had said. He did not expect this but it suddenly filled him with a strength he didn't know he had in him.

            "Your saving-people thing is something I love about you Harry," Hermione continued.  "You're a wonderful person and don't stop saving people just because your not sure of the consequences. I would have never guessed that Sirius would die, none of us could have, but that doesn't mean your saving-people thing was wrong." 

            She looked up into Harry's eyes, "I don't know a lot of things of Harry," Harry smirked, and Hermione smiled. "I don't know if Sirius can see you now or anything, but I know he loved you. You could see it in his face every time he looked at you and that should give you some comfort. He loves you still."

            Harry's eyes were wet. He didn't know if it was because of what Hermione had just said or if it was because he hadn't blinked as he looked into her eyes. He blinked rapidly to clear his vision and saw the same dandelion sticking out of the back of her head. He extended his hand to take it out…

            "Hermione?" said Ron's voice from the house as he came striding out to Harry and Hermione. "Oh Harry your here…" Ron looked between them as though expecting something, maybe an explanation why Harry's hand was still hovering by Hermione's face.

            "Hey, isn't that the Snitch," said Ron pointing over Harry's shoulder. Sure enough, about 20 feet off the ground, hovered the elusive Snitch. Harry grabbed his broom and flew up to catch it, Ron and Hermione watching him. He landed a second later, the Snitch held tightly in his hand.

            "Figures you see the damn thing after two seconds of being out here, while I've been here an hour," said Harry chuckling. Ron and Hermione laughed.

            "Let's head inside. It'll be getting late," said Ron letting Hermione pass in front of him. Ron dropped back next to Harry. "How long have you and Hermione been out here?" Ron asked. 

            "Oh, ten minutes. Why?"

            "Just asking," said Ron quickly. Harry was still getting the impression that Ron was being distant. He didn't know when it started but it seemed to do greatly with Hermione. Thinking about this as he climbed into bed and took off his glasses, wishing also for a nice long sleep. Harry forgot that tomorrow his training would begin.

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Next Chapter coming soon! ~Michelle AD

  



	3. Training

  


Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters mentioned in this fanfiction. Harry Potter and all characters from the Harry Potter Series are property of J.K. Rowling.

**New Beginnings**

**Chapter Three: Training**

_            Harry was running, running toward a door all too familiar, the door to the Department of Mysteries. The door was slowly changing in to and old stone archway with a veil, a veil. Harry passed through the veil. Mrs. Weasley was crying in a corner shaking. Dumbledore was fighting a cloaked figure. Sirius, Sirius was fighting Bellatrix Lestange laughing at her. He was laughing like a dog barks. Harry was yelling at him; Sirius was backing into the veil. Harry was telling him to move away from the veil. Sirius couldn't here him…._

_            "C'mon you can do better than that!" Sirius was shouting. _

_            "NOOOO!" cried Harry. He had to warn him… But Sirius had already fell through the veil_

_            "Harry!" said the voice of Dumbledore. "It's up to you now!" Harry was still facing the veil but Dumbledore was slowly wheeling him to face the cloaked figure Dumbledore had been fighting. "It's up to you now." Dumbledore repeated. _

_            Voldemort faced him laughing, his hazel eyes staring at him. He reached out his hands and shook Harry…._

            Harry awoke with a start, sweating. Someone was shaking him…

            "Wake up Harry, wake up!" said Mrs. Weasley. "C'mon Ron is already dressed."

           Harry suddenly remembered he had lessons with Moody today, but why had she said Ron was dressed already? He looked up. Ron was putting on a pair of white socks that were so dirty at the bottom they looked almost completely brown.

            "What time is it?" Harry wondered aloud.

            "About 6:30." Ron replied. 

           Harry stared. Ron never woke up this early, he never liked waking up! "Why are you up this early?" said Harry utterly perplexed.

            It was Ron's turn to stare and Harry looked into his light brown eyes and shivered. Ron, however, looked confused. "Don't you know? We have lessons. You know me, you, and Hermione?" 

            "You're taking them with me!" said Harry suddenly delighted.

            Ron smiled. "Yeah. You know, I worry 'bout you sometimes Harry."

            Harry laughed, rubbing his eyes and moved to the foot of his bed to open his trunk. Ten minutes later, Harry and Ron had ascended the stairs with Hermione to the 3rd floor drawing room, as that is where Ron and Hermione explained the lessons would be held. Harry entered the drawing room first. Moody was sitting at the desk in the corner looking at them.

            "Your late," he growled. "Sit."

            Harry, Ron, and Hermione looked around. The floor was completely bare, except for the dull green carpet which looked as though it had seen better days. Harry looked at Ron and Hermione. Hermione looked apprehensive, while Ron merely shrugged and plopped down on the carpet making a flurry of dust spring up. Harry and Hermione followed suit. 

            "You are hear to learn and accomplish the art of Pain Deflection," said Moody, getting up and limping over to wear they sat. "It is by far one of the most complicated branches of magic to achieve. If not done properly it can have disastrous affects on the person."

            Moody swept his magical eye over the trio that was now too intimidated to even breathe loudly, and continued. "First you must understand that Pain Deflection is nothing like that Muggle mind-over-matter crap. You have to know pain, appreciate it, and respect it. It's the only way you can overcome it. You have to build up resistance to it slowly and know that you can over come it."

            Suddenly he reached down to Hermione and grabbed her hand. He pulled out what looked like a sharp nail-file and dug it into Hermione's forefinger. Hermione gasped and pulled away looking at her lightly bleeding finger. Harry and Ron stared at Moody, too stunned to react to what he had just done. 

            Moody was looking at Hermione. "That hurt didn't it? It only hurt because you believed it would. You have to believe that it was nothing; that being pricked in the finger doesn't hurt. Now you know what that pain feels like. Now you respect it because it caused you pain. Now you can defeat it."

            Hermione was looking up at Moody nodding, no longer cradling her finger which had stopped bleeding and looked like quite an old cut.

            "Now we will try this again. Believe that it doesn't hurt, Miss Granger, believe it doesn't hurt."

            Moody once again bent down and seized Hermione's hand. He once again dug the sharp point into her flesh. Hermione had her eyes closed looking oddly serene. 

            Moody released her hand. Harry and Ron could see where the point had broken her skin but strangely no blooding came flowing out as before and even as they watched they saw the wound slowly close. Hermione opened her eyes and smiled.

            "I didn't feel anything," she exclaimed smiling up at Moody who was looking grimly satisfied.

            "You'll experience worse pain then that, pain much worse than a prick. Now let's see if you two can do it," said Moody gesturing toward Harry and Ron and signaling them to stand up. 

            He snatched Ron's hand and held the point over Ron's palm. Ron closed his eyes to signal he was ready. Moody drove the point into Ron's palm and Ron grimaced but then suddenly seemed to calm himself. Harry and Hermione watched as his wound shrunk and disappeared.

            "Good," Moody grunted while Harry and Hermione smiled at Ron.

            It was now Harry's turn. Harry felt, that after seeing Ron and Hermione accomplish it, he was ready for anything Moody had coming…

            _"Agonia!" _said Moody directing his wand at Harry. 

            Harry didn't have time to react. He suddenly felt as though his skull was on fire with overpowering pain, pain which reminded him so much of the Cruciatus Curse. But unlike the Cruciatus Curse, his brain was allowed to think and only one thought was emitting from it. _You can beat this. _Harry suddenly felt calm as the pain in his head receded into nothing and he opened his eyes. 

            He was kneeling on the ground with Moody and Ron looking down at him. Hermione was kneeling next to him, her face contorted with fear. Ron's eyes were wide, but Moody was looking at him with an odd look of pride displayed on his scarred face.

            "That was the Agony Curse, Potter. One of the more lethal of the pain curses. I didn't think you could overthrow it the first time. Well done," said Moody.

            Ron and Hermione gaped at him in awe. Moody, however, continued. "I had a feeling you could handle this one, Potter. Dumbledore told me you had experienced the Cruciatus Curse in your 4th year. All of you should be able to throw this off perfectly in a week. Until then we will work on building up your resistance."

            Harry, Ron, and Hermione spent the next hour pricking themselves or holding hot coals in their hands until they could feel nothing at all.

            "Harry! Hermione! Ron!" said Tonks as she slid into chair next to them halfway through lunch. "Would it be ok with you all if we moved my Metamorphmagus training to this evening? Dumbledore wants me to do something for him tomorrow."

            "That'd be fine," Ron said quickly while Harry nodded vigorously remembering Hermione had been pushing them both to start their 3-foot potions essay tonight.

            "Great," said Tonks helping herself to some of Mrs. Weasley's mashed potatoes.

            After dinner Harry, Hermione, and Ron once again climbed the stairs to the drawing room. When Hermione opened the door Tonks was no where to be seen. The room was silent except for the tiny _plop, plop on the roof from the rain which began around midday._

            Harry sat on the carpet again, enjoying the shady darkness filtering from the bay window and the soothing sound of falling rain. Hermione sat next to him and Ron drifted off to look at a tapestry hanging on the far end of the room. 

            Harry looked over at Hermione. She was fussing with a whole in the carpet but drew her eyes up when she felt Harry staring at her. Their eyes locked for what must have only been for a few seconds but Harry felt suddenly trapped inside her deep honey eyes. Hermione stared back into his eyes of jade and Harry felt the same urge from last night to touch her hair, to do something.

            The door swung open and Tonks strode in carrying her wand in one hand and a lantern in another.

            "Sorry I'm late. I couldn't find a lantern anywhere." 

            She plopped down in front of Harry and Hermione who were now staring determinedly at the floor while Ron walked over and sat down next to Harry.

            "Ok, ok… Where do I start," said Tonks to herself, obviously at a loss as to how to start her lesson. "You see not everyone has the ability to be a Metamorphmagus. It's a very rare gift and those who have it, have to have shown signs of being able to change their appearance. Er… so I'm gonna have to test you all."

            She scooted toward Harry, causing their long shadows on the wall to warp slightly. 

            "Ok Harry, this isn't gonna hurt or anything. I want you to think about your hair…" Harry smirked. He would much rather not think about the mop on his head that some people called his hair. Tonks smiled and continued. "Think about what your hair would look like slicked back and neat, not a hair out of place. Can you picture that?"

            Harry suddenly imagined his hair looking exactly like Draco Malfoy's but jet black. He shook his head, trying to clear the thought and settled his thoughts on his hair being combed back and sleek. 

            "Now look at my eyes…" Tonks said and Harry peered into her amethyst eyes as they glimmered in the lantern light. He suddenly felt as though he couldn't move his eyes at all which was followed by a strange feeling on his head.

            Hermione gasped and Harry finally pulled his eyes away from Tonks and turned to look at her. Her eyes were wide but she had on an appreciative smile. Harry turned back to Tonks and his stomach gave a jolt. Tonks hair was no longer bubble-gum pink as it had been that afternoon, but looked exactly how Harry had imagined his neater hair.

            _"Specchio!"  Tonks muttered and a beautiful silver mirror appeared in her hand._

            She handed it to Harry, who lifted it to his face.

            "AHH!" Harry yelled, promptly dropping the mirror causing it to shatter. Harry had just seen what Harry had once deemed impossible become possible. His hair was slicked back and gleaming which gave him a much more mature look.

            _"Reparo!"_ said Tonks chuckling, her hair the exact copy of Harry's. "Just as I thought, ok your turn Hermione!" 

            Tonks scooted over to face her. "Now Hermione, I want you to think about your hair…" Hermione smirked. Harry got the feeling she was thinking exactly what he had thought. "Think about your hair and what it would look like straight and shiny."

            Hermione closed her eyes clearly thinking.

            "Now look into my eyes," Tonks continued. Hermione did. For a moment nothing happened then quite abruptly Tonks' hair changed from Harry's slicked back look, to long strands of chestnut brown which wove itself into an elegant bun atop of her head. It looked exactly as Harry remembered Hermione's hair from the Yule Ball in their 4th year. Hermione's hair, now however, remained quite unchanged.

            Hermione pulled at a strand of her still-bushy hair looking confused. 

            "What happened? Why didn't it work?" Hermione said picking up the mirror to check her appearance.

            Tonks sighed and turned to face Ron. She studied him for a moment before looking as though she made some sort of decision.

            "Ron, I want you to think about you nose…"

            Ron gave out a cry of indignation. "There's nothing wrong with my nose!" he said hotly.

            "I never said there was," said Tonks smiling. "C'mon Ron think about your lovely nose and imagine it…shorter. Imagine it smaller and curving in the middle. You know what I mean, the stereotypical perfect nose. You imagining that?

            Ron still looked quite flustered but he nodded. "Now look at my eyes…" Ron did so and as with Hermione, nothing happened for a moment until suddenly Tonks' nose changed into a perfect nose.

            Ron reached up and felt his nose, which had remained unchanged.

            Tonks sighed heavily again. "Well I don't know what I expected…"

            "What do mean? How come Ron and I couldn't do it?" said Hermione looking agitated.

            "Because Harry is the only Metamorphmagus out of you three. I said it was a rare gift. It would have been amazing if all of you could do it."

            "So Harry is the only one who can change his appearance?!" said Hermione looking extremely put out.

            "I'm afraid so. He will be the only one I can train to be a Metamorphmagus, but I will be able to teach all three of you about Concealment and Disguise. It's not that bad really," she said hurriedly to Hermione. "I had a feeling Harry could do it from that story he told about him growing his hair back."

            "So because I'm a Metamorphmagus I can change anything about me now!" said Harry excitedly.

            "Not anything, there are limitations. Metamorphmagi usually never usually try to alter their bodies, only their faces. Only the best of them attempt that and I would certainly not recommend you to do that. But your face and hair are open territory." Tonks explained.

            Despite the fact that he wouldn't be able to change his body, Harry was overcome with delight; he could finally get rid of something that had been with him for nearly fifteen years: his scar.   

            "Can I try my scar," Harry questioned, thinking now was a good as time as any.

            "Sure, I knew that was gonna be your first choice." Tonks scooted toward him again. "I don't think you're ready to do it on your own yet so I'll help you. Focus on what your forehead would look like blank and scar-free. Think hard and look at me," Tonks instructed.

            Hermione and Ron watched, intrigued. Harry looked into Tonks' eyes, thinking hard on a blank forehead. Once again he found it impossible to move his eyes from Tonks' which was followed by a peculiar feeling on his forehead. 

            He looked at Tonks' forehead. It was not blank; there was a thin outline of a lightning bolt etched there. Harry seized the mirror and examined his own forehead. The scar was still there though fainter then it had originally been.

            "Hmm, that's strange Harry. You should have been able to get rid of it if you were thinking about a blank forehead. Unless…" said Tonks feeling the scar on her forehead. "Unless if your scar is so much a part of you that you can't get rid of it completely. I've heard it's possible. A person being so closely connected with a physical feature that essentially it is so much a part of them that it can not be concealed."

            "So that's all I am!? I'm my scar, my scar is who I am?" said Harry suddenly outraged.

            "No don't be ridiculous, Harry. You're not your scar. You are what you make yourself to be. All I'm saying is that it is so closely tied to you, it will not be hidden.

            Harry's anger ebbed away, but not his disappointment of not being rid of his scar…

            "So as custom with newly discovered male Metamorphmagi, he must let a girl make you over," announced Tonks, barely holding back a grin.

            "What!" yelled Harry suddenly no longer thinking about his scar.

            "Yeah, you have to let a girl make you over," said Tonks.

            "I do not! That's not a rule!" Harry said hotly.

            "I know, it's not a rule," said Tonks chuckling. "But you should let Hermione do it. Believe me, if you are transformed physically how one girl wants you to look, I can guarantee more will follow."

            Ron and Hermione were suddenly laughing. "C'mon Harry, let me do it!" Hermione exclaimed.

            Harry muttered something about liking the way he looked but gave up and moved to face Hermione.

            "Well there's not that much to change about him," Hermione said thoughtfully while Harry raised his eyebrows. "I kinda like his messy hair actually, maybe a bit shorter," said Hermione while Tonks nodded. Ron had stuffed his fist into his mouth, to stop from laughing. "We can't change his eyes of course," she added dreamily as she looked at him. "And his nose is fine the way it is. Oh, but we should definitely change your eyebrows. Their so bushy at the end…" said Hermione breaking off into a giggle.

            Harry scowled. 

            "Ok, eyebrows it is Hermione. Harry, look at your eyebrows now," she said, handing him the mirror, "and imagine them not as bushy and no stray hairs. Can you picture that?"

            Harry nodded and Tonks continued. "Now I'm not gonna help you this time. Close your eyes and picture those eyebrows. Concentrate hard now, and imagine your old eyebrows changing to the new ones…"

            She trailed off and Harry thought hard and once again felt as though he couldn't move his eyes in his sockets. This was followed by a slight prickling by his eyes.

            He opened his eyes and looked in the mirror. He saw two identically sculpted eyebrows above his eyes. Wanting to complete the picture, Harry rumpled his hair out of its sleek combed appearance so that it was once again messy. Hermione leaned over to see him better.

            She smiled warmly at him. "There, now he's more than perfect."

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Next chapter coming soon. Keep reading! ~Michelle AD


	4. Surprises

  


Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters mentioned in this fanfiction. Harry Potter and all characters from the Harry Potter Series are property of J.K. Rowling.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters mentioned in this fanfiction. Harry Potter and all characters from the Harry Potter Series are property of J.K. Rowling.

**New Beginnings**

**Chapter Four: Surprises**

            Three weeks later Harry, Ron and Hermione were confident in all their lessons. All three could throw off the Agony Curse and had mastered how to perform a Disillusionment Charm, which made the doer blend in perfectly with their surroundings. Lupin's lessons were much like those he taught the trio back in their third year. Most of his lessons consisted of learning a wide variety of jinxes and defensive spells. Harry quite enjoyed Lupin's lessons, especially after a year of suffering in Professor Umbridge's DADA classes. Though they had not learned many Dark spells yet, Lupin assured them they were coming. 

            It was after one especially draining Dark Arts Lesson, when Harry and Ron found themselves on their beds staring at a ridiculously long Transfiguration essay. Harry had written 3 inches so far; a full 21 inches shorter than the required length.

            "HARRY! Ron!" Hermione came hurrying into the room her face alive with ecstasy. "Our O.W.L.s results are here! Their here! I'm almost to afraid to open mine!"

            Harry's stomach gave a lurch. He, unlike Hermione was filled with apprehension. He knew exactly how important it was to excel at their Ordinary Wizarding Levels. It was a great part of what decided your future career in the Wizarding world. 

            Hermione passed Harry and Ron their letters, her hands shaking.

            Ron looked around at them both. "So are we gonna take turns reading them or do it all at the same time?"  

            Harry thought he would quite like to read his first before announcing it to Ron and Hermione.

            "I'm too scared to open mine," Hermione said trembling. "Here, Harry. Open it for me."

            "C'mon Hermione," said Harry taking her letter, "If anyone should be worried here it's me and Ron."

            Ron laughed while Hermione was staring at the letter in Harry's hands as though it might lunge at her if she wasn't careful.

            You sure about this Hermione?" said Harry lifting the wax seal slowly.

            Hermione nodded still looking entranced by the letter. Harry proceeded and lifted out the thick parchment paper…

            "Wait! No I can do it!" Hermione said, lunging forward and seizing the papers from Harry. She unfurled the letter and held it up to her face, her hands still trembling. As Harry watched Hermione's eyes traveled back and forth and her mouth was hanging slightly open.

            "I don't believe it! I don't believe it," she whispered almost inaudibly. 

            "What, did you fail something!" Harry said aghast.

            "No, no. Not at all!" she said still whispering. "I GOT AN O.W.L. IN EVERY SUBJECT!!" she said now screaming at the top of her voice. 

            "Let me see that!" Ron said getting up and grabbing her letter. Harry leaned over to read it too. Sure enough Hermione had gotten and "Outstanding" in every one of her classes: Herbology, Potions, Transfiguration, Ancient Runes, Care for Magical Creatures, History of Magic, Arithmancy, and Defense Against the Dark Arts. 

            Harry felt a surge of pride for Hermione's accomplishments, especially in Defense Against the Dark Arts. For if it hadn't been for the secret organization Hermione created for Harry to teach last year, all of them would have done very poorly in this area, mostly due to the fallibility of their last teacher…

            "Oh, they have also included are N.E.W.T.s class schedule!" said Hermione.

            Ron was grumbling something that sounded strangely like "little miss perfect" to Harry while he ripped apart his own letter. Harry dislodged the wax seal from his letter and read:

_Mr. H Potter,_

_            Below are your Ordinary Wizarding Levels results from the previous June. Also included is your class schedule for your N.E.W.T.s classes. Please make arrangements to acquire the necessary supplies for each class. You will be entering one of the most critical years at __Hogwarts__School__ of Witchcraft and Wizardry, one most influential on your future career. If you have any questions please direct an owl to your Head of House._

_                                                                                                Best wishes,_

_                                                                                                Minerva McGonagall_

_                                                                                                Deputy Headmistress_

_Ordinary Wizarding Levels Results: H. Potter_

_                        Transfiguration: Exceeds Expectations_

_                        Herbology: Exceeds Expectations_

_                        Charms: Outstanding_

_                        Defense Against the Dark Arts: Outstanding _

_                        Potions: Outstanding_

_                        History of Magic: Poor_

_                        Divination: Dreadful _

_                        Care for Magical Creatures: Outstanding_

_                        Astronomy: Acceptable _

_As by your chosen career of Auror, your N.E.W.T.s class schedule is written below._

_                        Monday: Nine to Eleven Am ~ N.E.W.T.s Transfiguration_

_                        Monday: __One to Three Pm__ ~ N.E.W.T.s Charms_

_                        Tuesday: Nine to Eleven Am ~ N.E.W.T.s Potions_

_                        Tuesday: __One to Three Pm__~ optional class (can be filled with regular class or study hall)_

_                        Wednesday: __Nine to Eleven Am__ ~ 2nd optional class_

_                        Wednesday: __One to Four Pm__~ N.E.W.T.s Defense Against the Dark Arts_

_                        Thursday: Nine to Eleven Am ~ N.E.W.T.s Transfiguration_

_                        Thursday: __One to Three Pm__ ~ N.E.W.T.s Potions_

_                        Friday: Nine to Eleven Am ~ N.E.W.T.s Charms_

_                        Friday: __One to Three Pm__ ~ 1st or 2nd optional classes_

            Harry looked up. He had done it, he had achieved at the classes that would allow him to become an Auror. He swept over his results again. An O.W.L. in Potions! Harry would never have believed that possible. Though the downside was having Snape teach it to him for two more years, something he had come to dread since his first day at Hogwarts.

            Hermione was lying down next to him reading her schedule high above her head. Ron was reading his letter with a frown on his face. Harry suddenly realized that he didn't know what careers Ron and Hermione had chosen.

            "Well? How'd you do Ron?" asked Harry.

            Ron sighed, "Well, I did ok I guess. I didn't get into all the Auror classes though! I got "Acceptable" in Transfiguration and "Acceptable" in Potions. I'm not taking those classes anymore 'cause of that."

            "So what classes are you taking if your not gonna be an Auror?" said Harry getting worried that Ron would be in none of his classes. 

            "I got my second choice," said Ron shrugging. "I'm gonna work in International Magical Law Office or something. I dunno really, but McGonagall said I have great people skills. So I'm taking Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, and History of Magic! I don't know how I got in that class! Probably 'cause not enough people wanted to be in it. I'm not even sure how these classes are gonna help."

            "Hmmm. Well I got two classes with you for sure and if we both take Care for Magical Creatures for an optional class, we'll have three. I got the Auror classes, if you can believe it, because I can't."

            "I knew you would get it, Harry," Hermione said smiling at him. "and I think we should all take Care for Magical Creatures together and one study hall."

            "What did you get anyway? I expect you'd have your pick of anything…" said Ron.

            Hermione smiled at him. "I'm not telling either of you. I want it to be a surprise!"

            Harry and Ron gaped at her. Harry couldn't believe she would keep that big a secret from them.

            "Hermione!" said Ron offended, "We're your best friends! You have to tell us!"

            "No I don't," said Hermione getting up and walking serenely to the door. "It's more fun if you guess."

            That night at dinner Mrs. Weasley hung a banner in the kitchen with the words: CONGRATULATIONS HARRY, RON, AND HERMIONE ON YOUR O.W.L.s!!! Dinner was early that night due to there was an Order meeting that evening. Fred and George took whatever opportunity possible to gloat to Ron, Hermione, Harry, and Ginny that they were now fully initiated Order members. Not wanting to hear them gloat much longer, Harry left dinner early with his Transfiguration paper in one hand and a lantern in the other and proceeded to the 3rd floor drawing room.

            It was once again raining as demonstrated by the unending _plop plop. Harry settled himself _at the desk in the corner and set down his quill and ink bottle. It was when he was smoothing out his parchment to begin his writing when he heard a movement in the far corner of the room.

Harry spun around picking up the lantern. "Who's there?" he called.

            "It is only Kreacher, Young Master." Said a raspy voices that unmistakably Kreacher the house elf's.

            Harry felt as though his blood had turned to ice. He got up carrying the lantern and stopped in front of where Kreacher stood in front of the Black Family tapestry. He remembered how Hermione had instructed him last summer to be kind to this house elf. He was old and had worked for Sirius' family for decades. But the last thing Harry was feeling at this moment was kindness. His heart was filled with merciless hatred for the filthy creature looking up at him. If it had not been for Kreacher Harry would have never been tricked to go to the Department of Mysteries last June; if it had not been for Kreacher, Sirius would have never gone to rescue Harry; if it had not been for Kreacher, Sirius would still be here.

            "Where have you been for three weeks, Kreacher?" Harry asked curtly. 

            Kreacher looked to be struggling with himself as though fighting with himself to answer. Harry realized why.

            "You must answer me truthfully. I own this house now, meaning I _own _you." Harry said feeling a sort of savage power course through him. He could control the thing which had let his godfather die.

            Kreacher was muttering to himself, but audibly so that Harry could hear every word. 

            "Stupid halfbreed thinks he can command Kreacher about…he thinks that now his retched godfather is dead he is in charge." Kreacher suddenly stopped mumbling while Harry was twitching with rage. "Kreacher had been in the attic, master."

            "Liar," said Harry barely maintaining a steady voice. "We would have heard you. Where have you really been!?"

            "The little boy is not that stupid. But he doesn't know that Kreacher has gone to see the last faithful Black."

            "What do you meant he last faithful Black?" asked Harry though he already had a feeling of who it might be. He had gone to see Draco Malfoy's mother Narcissa. "Now you listen to me Kreacher. You are not to leave this house ever again. You are never to talk about to anyone, about what goes on here. You will not tell Narcissa Malfoy anything! And whenever I call you, you will come to me. You will never leave this house for the rest of your miserable life! Do you understand?" Harry shouted wanting to make sure that there would be no way Kreacher could ever defy him. "Now leave this room."

            Kreacher looked up at him disdainfully. "The little boy loved that traitor. Kreacher is glad he is dead. Kreacher is glad scum like that…"

            "I SAID GET OUT!" bellowed Harry wanting nothing more than to bash the little elf's skull into the wall.

            Kreacher bowed smiling horribly at him and stumbled toward the door.

            "But do not leave this house!" Harry said realizing that what he had just said would have allowed Kreacher to leave the house again.

            "Yes, Young Master," said Kreacher stumbling away.

            Harry walked back to the desk still shaking with fury and slammed down his quill on his paper. Ink splattered over it and Harry cursed. How many more things could go wrong?! 

            "Harry?" came Hermione's voice from the door.

            Harry spun around. Hermione was standing in the doorway, her hair pulled up into a messy bun and her eyebrows were furrowed.

            "Oh, hi," Harry said wanting to keep his voice calm. 

            "I thought I heard you yelling…" she said hesitantly. "Are you ok?"

            "Fine, I'm fine." Harry said trying to convince himself more than Hermione.

            "Good, because I have something for you…" she pulled out something from behind her back. "I know with everything going on I forgot to send you your birthday present. Better late than never." She held out a small square box wrapped in paper decorated with Snitches and broomsticks.

            "Oh. Well, uhh… thanks. You really didn't have to Hermione," Harry said recovering from his initial anger. 

            Hermione smiled as Harry took the gift from her and sat down on the green carpet. "I know. I really didn't have to, but I did." 

            Harry sat down next to her, gently removing the gift from its wrapping. It was a magnificent silver, expensive looking watch with a glass top that protected three delicate silver hands. Inside the face there was another clock also. It too had three hands, but they were not hour, minute, and second hands. Each one had, in miniscule writing, a name. One said Harry, one said Hermione, and one said Ron. All three were pointed at the word home. But what astounded Harry the most was not this beautifully crafted watch but the reflection on the glass. He could see Hermione's eyes on the surface shining in the dim lantern light. 

            "Wow Hermione," he whispered, Kreacher now far from his mind as he stared into her eyes on the watch face. "This is beautiful!" 

            Hermione moved. "Well I knew you needed a new one ever since the Second Task. This one is waterproof," she said smiling.

            "Its perfect." Harry said looking up at her. "Thank you so much Hermione." Harry suddenly felt that saying thank you wasn't enough. He needed to show her how much he liked it. He put down the watch and covered Hermione's hand with his own and leaned forward. Hermione's eyes widened and Harry hesitated for a moment that he was doing the wrong thing. He was going to give her a peck on the lips, as he felt tempted to do, but changed course and kissed her cheek. His lips made contact with her soft skin and felt his stomach give a flop. He vowed right then that he would get her a truly spectacular birthday present this September.

            Harry released her hand and moved away. Hermione was staring at him her mouth slightly open. She quickly shut it and smiled. "You're welcome Harry. Happy Birthday!"

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Thank all of you who reviewed. I really appreciate that as I was so worried you would hate this. Anyway. I'm trying to write these things as fast I can. That's why this one is so short. I'll write a longer one next time. Thanks again to all who reviewed!! ~Michelle AD


	5. Confusing the Signals

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters mentioned in this fanfiction. Harry Potter and all characters from the Harry Potter Series are property of J.K. Rowling.

**New Beginnings**

**Chapter Five:**

_            Harry was walking alone along the halls of Hogwarts. The only people besides him were Ron and Hermione. They were holding hands..._

_            Hermione looked back at him with a sad expression on her face while Ron took her chin into his hand and leaned forward. _

_            There was high cackling laughter coming from down the hall and then the hall faded away. He was standing in the Death Chamber in the Department of Mysteries. He was pinned below the archway, one hand on each side to stop Voldemort from pushing him into the veil..._

_            He kept laughing at Harry. "C'mon Harry. Don't you miss your parents? Don't you miss Sirius Black?"_

_            He kept laughing, his cold hazel eyes squinting with mirth...._

            "Where were you last night Hermione?" Ron asked at the breakfast table the next morning. "You were going to help me with my Transfiguration essay."

            Harry glanced at Hermione over his porridge. She looked back at him and a silent bond of agreement passed between them. Harry couldn't exactly explain why it wouldn't have been a good idea to tell Ron about Harry and Hermione's meeting last night, but he knew he wouldn't like it.

            "I...I was," stammered Hermione casting around for an acceptable lie. "I was finishing my Charms homework. I must have lost track of the time. I'm sorry. You know how I can get when I get caught up in something."

            "Yeah, well, will you help me with it after breakfast?' Ron asked eagerly.

            "That'd be fine. Do you need help with it too Harry?"

            "Yeh...no." Ron had just given him a stern look. "No I finished it last night. Thanks though," said Harry giving Ron a questioning look.

            "Are you sure you don't want me to check it over?" Hermione offered.

            "No, I think I got it. You don't have to check all my work, Hermione." Harry added quickly.

            Hermione smiled at him. "See Ron, see? Harry can check his own work. I'm glad your finally confident in doing your own work now Harry. He's not always asking to see my papers is he?"

            "I just want your help, Hermione." Ron said curtly. "I didn't ask to see it."

            "Well you've sure asked to see it before," snapped Hermione.

            Harry threw up his arms in exasperation and pushed back his chair. "Do you two ever stop?" Harry sighed and walked out of the room to fetch his Transfiguration essay, which he had not finished.

            Half an hour later, Harry was descending the stairs to his room after finally finishing his Transfiguration essay. As he approached the door he heard voices from inside.

            "You see Ron? The theory only works when applied to non-mammals. That's why if you tried with a rat, for example, it wouldn't work. I already went over the right method for mamm... Ron stop. I already went over the right method for mammals. And you understand about cross-species transformations. I said stop Ron! _Ron!"_

            Harry pushed open the door slightly. Hermione was sitting on Ron's bed holding _Advanced Transfiguration_ and a long scroll of parchment. Ron was lying casually across bed curling Hermione's hair between his fingers...

            "Hey guys!" said Harry shoving the door open fully. Ron sprang back from Hermione so that he was sitting up straight. Hermione looked up looking mildly surprised but somehow relieved.

            "Well I think you understand it pretty well now, Ron." Hermione said setting down Ron's textbook and parchment. "I have to go and finish my Potions essay. See you at lunch." She quickly strode out of the room closing the door behind her.

            Ron sighed and scooped up his supplies, organizing them. Harry, however, was looking at Ron. He needed to have something answered, something confirmed. He didn't want to believe it. He was hoping that everyone was mistaken....

            "Ron, can I ask you something?" Harry said cautiously sitting down on his bed facing Ron. "Don't freak out, I just want to know."

            Ron looked up at him expectantly. Harry hesitated. If he asked this he had a feeling Ron might think Harry was accusing him, but for Harry, it was crucial for him to know, he didn't know why, but it was.

            "Do you like Hermione?"

            "WHAT?!" yelled Ron dropping his books, quills, and ink bottles on the floor. He looked quite unperturbed by this as he was staring avidly at Harry.

            "Are you mad? Why the _hell would you think that?!" shouted Ron._

            Ok, now Harry was confused. When you play with someone's hair like that doesn't that mean you like that person? Harry didn't think it was wise to bring that up...

            "Well, I hear things. Some...some people to think you like her." Harry said looking down at the ground.

            "Well I don't," Ron said, no longer shouting. "Who would think I would like that cynical, demeaning, annoying, ridiculing girl." Harry stared; he didn't usually hear Ron use such big words. "She can't stop bragging about how good she is at everything and every time you want her to shut up she keeps talking. And beside those lovely qualities," he went on sarcastically. "she can be so incredibly interfering. You know what I mean."

            Harry raised his eyebrows but inside was filled with relief. He didn't like her. "Yeah, yeah. Well I'm gonna uhh... go and get my ink bottle I left in the drawing room." Harry said quickly wanting to get out of any room that held a pissed off Ron.

            His hand was on the doorknob when Ron called out to him. He was staring down at his books on the ground. "You don't like her, do you?"

            Harry froze thinking _how the hell did I get involved with this? He said what first came to his mind._

            "No, 'course not. I don't like her." 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

            August passed quickly through Number 12 Grimmuald Place with the various members of the Order passing through it doors. Fred and George were hardly ever seen anymore as they spent a great majority off their time at their joke shop in Diagon Alley. 

            And so it was on the last week of August that Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny found themselves standing in the breezy driveway with a guard of Tonks, Mrs. Weasley, and Bill waiting for the triple-decker Knight Bus.

            There had been much groaning from Ron about their choice of travel. Harry had laughed at him remembering Ron's less than pleasant ride on it last Christmas. Now Harry, Ron, and Hermione we're standing well back from Bill as he raised his wand and out of no where the massive bus appeared.

            "Welcome to the Knight Bus..." said a bored voice from the bus entrance. "I'm Stan Shunpike and I'll be your conduc...." He stared around at all of them and his eyes fell on Harry.

            "Ern! Ern! Look who's it tis Ern! It's 'Arry. 'Arry Pott."

            "Yeah, yeah we know who it is..." Tonks said swiftly, pushing past Stan. "C'mon, get on the bus all of you."

            "Hey there 'Arry. How ya holding up?"

            "Good, Stan, good." Harry said severely hoping that he wasn't going to get this constant attention from Stan the entire ride.

            Harry's party made their way up to the top level of the bus so that 2 minutes later they were staring down at the London streets as they zoomed past. Mrs. Weasley was clutching her stomach and looked slightly green. Bill was holding on to the rail bar on the side of the bus so hard his knuckles were completely white and Ron kept grumbling as he fell off his chair every time the bus made an abrupt turn. 

            Tonks was standing up and glaring at whoever was looking in their direction, as quite a few people were. Most of the stares were directed at Harry's forehead. Hermione, however, was sitting with her legs crossed staring peacefully out of the window.

            "How do you do that?" Ron said exasperated. He had now fallen out of his chair 12 times.

            "Obviously you have never ridden a school bus." Hermione said. Harry smiled at her, having known the experience very well himself. Ron looked confused and opened his mouth to reply but the bus came to a stop and he fell off his chair for the 13th time.

            Twenty minutes later Harry and the others descended the stairs to the bottom level and out into a small London alleyway; in front of them stood the famous Leaky Cauldron, a wizard pub.

            Tonks marched towards it, signaling the others to follow. 

            No sooner had Harry stepped into the pub when he heard a shrill voice say "Bloody hell! It's Harry Potter!"  Harry's jaw dropped. He was totally at a loss at how anyone could have spotted him in this crowded pub. Suddenly everyone was on their feet running towards him and pushing the others away from him. Harry's eyes were wide in shock as old wizards wrung his hand, while some asked him to recount his battle with Voldemort a year ago, while quite a few witches kissed him on the cheek leaving sticky colored imprints on face. Harry looked over desperately at Ron and Hermione. Ron had his eyebrows raised as a middle-aged witch kissed his cheek ferociously. He could barely contain his laughter. Hermione had turned away from him in a coughing fit, which Harry suspected weren't coughs at all.

            "Yes, yes. Take a picture it will last longer." Tonks said irritably elbowing a 20 year old witch out of the way who had been staring at Harry in awe. Tonks seized the back of Harry's robes and dragged him through the crowd while Tom the bartender came hurtling toward him carrying a bottle of butterbeer, yelling "Need some refreshment, Mr. Potter?"  Harry, thinking the whole world had gone mad a moment ago, couldn't help smiling now. He seemed to have redeemed himself in the wizarding world since last year when everyone thought he was a deranged show-off.

            Tonks still had a hold on Harry's robes and was dragging him into a side room. Everyone was smiling at him; actually everyone was smirking at him. Harry could guess why and took his sleeve and began vigorously wiping his face. Harry glared at them while Tonks moved forward and began hitting the wall in various spots with her wand. The bricks in the wall began to move and rearrange themselves so that a large archway opened up before them. Harry moved forward after Tonks hoping that every trace of lipstick was gone from his skin.

            "Where do we go first?" Hermione asked staring around at the busy magical market place they had just entered.

            "Well me and Ron need some money. Fred and George said they added some more for us," said Ginny while Ron nodded.

            "I don't need any money," said Harry remembering he hadn't spent any money the previous year.

            "Neither do I," said Hermione staring at a cart full of lunascopes and scales.

            "Well how about I take Ron and Ginny to Gringotts, and Bill and Tonks can take you two to start your shopping. We don't want to hold you up. You know how long it takes to get to those vaults." Mrs. Weasley said smiling at Harry and Hermione. 

            They all nodded in agreement and Ginny, Mrs. Weasley, and Ron all walked towards the end of the Alley where a magnificent white columned building stood.

            "So where to?" said Bill bouncing on the balls of his feet looking excitably around the square.

            "Well, I need the hem of my robes to be lengthened. So I guess we should go over to Madame Malkins Robes..."

            As Harry and Hermione walked to the left to a large store with moving manikins wearing beautiful robes, Harry muttered to her "I didn't know you got taller." 

            Hermione gave him a sour look. "You just got taller, so you didn't notice. You probably need your robes lengthened too."

            Harry shrugged and they entered the marble-floored entrance of the store. To the right there were three pedestals, two of which were occupied by Hogwarts students Harry didn't know. An old woman with measuring tape draped over her shoulder was fussing around them with her wand, adjusting the robes to fit the wearer. Harry and Hermione proceeded to the pedestals as the witch finished with her other costumers. Ten minutes later Harry and Hermione were carrying their newly altered robes. Harry walked toward the exit but Hermione caught his arm to stop him. 

            "We should get some new dress robes while we're here," she said

            "I don't need new ones. I've only worn them once." Harry said quickly, not liking the idea of more shopping for robes.

            "C'mon Harry. Those robes are 2 years old. You need new ones."

            Harry sighed. "There's probably not even gonna be a ball this year. I don't know why you bother," letting himself be dragged by Hermione to the dress robe department.

            "I think there will be," Hermione said mysteriously.

            Harry raised his eyebrows at her as she walked off to the woman's area. Harry called after her, "What color do I get?" suddenly realizing that, for him, picking out dress robes was as difficult as learning to breathe without air.

            "Green," she answered without hesitation.

            Harry sighed and turned to face a rack full of handsome dress robes. He picked out three green ones, without much thinking and went to find Hermione.

            "Which one?" he said holding them up for her inspection as she turned away from a yellow robe she had been looking at.

            "Hmm," she said running her hand over each choice. One was plain green with no decoration, another was green with black along the sleeves, and the last one was a deep forest green with gold trim around the sleeves and hem. The trim was woven to look like leaves and vines and they glimmered in the dim light of the store.

            "This one," she said pointing to the green and gold robe. "It's perfect for you," she smiled at him and hung the other two robes on a nearby rack. She held the green and gold robe up to Harry's body. "It's perfect. Now go away so I can pick mine," she said turning away.

            "Why can't I see yours?"

            "Because it has to be a surprise, Harry!" looking at him as though he was quite crazy for even suggesting it. 

            Harry smiled and left, carrying his new robes to the check out. It took Hermione another 20 minutes before she came out carrying the bag that contained her robes.

            "Ready?" said Harry getting up from a bench in the corner.

            "Yup," Hermione said and while she was busy putting away her money, Harry came and stood next to her and craned his neck over her shoulder to see inside her bag. Hermione moved away to face him giving him a stern look. 

            "C'mon Hermione, let me have a peek," 

            "No!" Hermione said shrilly as Harry reached his arm behind her back where she held the bag. "No, Harry!" Hermione said laughing as Harry stuck his other arm behind Hermione's back and fiddled with the bag. Hermione's stomach touched Harry's and Harry felt a jolt similar to the one he had felt when he kissed her on the cheek. 

            Harry and Hermione froze. Anyone passing by would have thought they were performing some weird type of hug. Harry knew Hermione had felt what he felt, he knew it...

            "Harry! Hermione! C'mon lets go," said Bill emerging from the casual robes section. Harry quickly detangled himself from Hermione, and followed Bill and Tonks out of the store.

            Five minutes later everyone was inside Flourish and Blots buying their new textbooks. Harry only needed three new books: _Standard Book of Spells, Grade 6_, _A History of the Dark Arts and Defensive Spells, _and _Advanced Charms_. They also headed down to the Apotercy to refill their Potions ingredients.

            It was when Harry was stepping out of the Potions store when he heard a familiar voice calling him, "Harry! Ron! All of you over here!" It was Fred waving frantically to them and smiling from across the alleyway. He was standing under an enormous banner which proclaimed in brilliant gold lettering: Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. There was a small crowd gathered around the entrance way mostly made up of young children and their disgruntled parents. 

            Harry and the others strode over to Fred and made their way inside. 

            Harry had to blink several times in order to believe he hadn't been daydreaming. Inside were rows upon rows of delicious looking sweets, which Harry really knew had a hidden purpose. There were an infinite number of gadgets in glass cases lining the walls, some which looked rather menacing. It was amazing to believe that Fred and George had single handily invented everything in this shop.

            "Wow," said Ron's awestruck voice from behind him. He was eyeing what looked like a huge box of Skiving Snack boxes. Children were bustling along shrieking in delight as they read what each magical treat did, their parents looking rather apprehensively at the fabulous treats.

            Harry decided to buy quite a few things, some of which he kept out of sight from Hermione as they would enable him to skip some classes. Ron too loaded up on a number of treats while Fred and George smiled delightedly as they made their purchases. Harry felt now, more than ever, as he saw Mrs. Weasley look in awe at her son's efforts, that he had done the right thing by giving Fred and George his Triwizard winnings. _It was all worth it, Harry thought to himself as he saw a small child turn into a canary after eating a "tester" treat and his mother shriek in terror. _It was all worth it, just keep telling yourself that.__

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Ok that's chapter 5. Thank you so much to everyone who has been reviewing. It means a lot to me. I'll try to have the next chapter done in the very near future. Keep reading and thank you again!! ~Michelle AD

  



	6. New Year, New Changes

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters mentioned in this fanfiction. Harry Potter and all characters from the Harry Potter Series are property of J.K. Rowling.

**New Beginnings**

**Chapter Six: New Year, New Changes**

            It was with a heavy heart that Harry locked Hedwig in her cage and latched shut his school trunk. He had become accustomed to seeing the fine drapery around his bed and the cheerful kitchen of this house, but above all he would miss the people who resided within Grimmuald Places' walls. It had become part of Harry's heart, a place that still brought back painful memories, but had given him a place to cherish as the last remaining remnant of his godfather's life. To leave it and the people in it would be difficult for Harry...

            "Ready to go?" said Ron from behind his bed curtains where Harry could hear him piling items into his trunk without much thought.

            "Yeah," said Harry vaguely staring around the bare room. "Yeah,"

            Five minutes later Mrs. Weasley's shrill voice could be heard from the entrance hall yelling at Ginny and Hermione to get downstairs. Somehow Ginny had got her copy of _Magical Herbs and Fungi stuck between the mattresses of her bed and was unable to remove it for five full minutes until Tonks arrived and stunned her mattress, which released the book._

            They were once again traveling by the Knight Bus to King's Cross Station, something Ron seemed, once again, reluctant about as he glared at the giant purple bus as it appeared in the drive way. They all clamored on dragging their trunks and pet cages behind them while Stan Shunpike once again tried to engage Harry in conversation. The journey was not long at all as they were only going to downtown London, but never the less Ron was able to fall out of his chair seven and a half times. It would have been eight if an elderly woman getting off the bus hadn't broken his fall. When they came to their stop Harry passed his money to Stan while Stan pretended not to be totally entranced by Harry's scar. Tonks, Lupin, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley led the way for the four students as they stepped off the bus and into the crowded passenger area full of morning commuters. 

            It was 10:50 Am, according to Harry's watch, meaning they only had ten minutes to catch the train to Hogwarts. Harry and Ron jogged up to platforms nine and ten pushing along their bulky station carts and waiting for the others to catch up. Tonks and Ginny ran threw the seemingly solid barrier between platforms nine and ten first. They were immediately absorbed into the wall and disappeared. Mr. Weasley passed through next with Ron and Mrs. Weasley went with Hermione. Now it was only Lupin and Harry.

            "Harry, wait!" said Lupin stopping Harry from heading toward the barrier. "Moody told me to tell you that you three should keep practicing Pain Deflection using hot coals and such. Don't try any of the big stuff and Tonks said keep going with your Metamorphagus training..."

            "What about you?" Harry said. "Do we need to practice anything for your lessons?"

            "No, no and you'll see why..." said Lupin smiling and flicked his hand to prod Harry toward teh platform. Harry gave him a questioning look but moved toward the barrier. He ran toward the brick wall gaining momentum all the way. A second later he had passed through the barrier and was standing on Platform nine and three quarters, the brilliant scarlet steam engine humming in front him, occasionally pushing steam onto the walkway making the some students jump as the walked along the train. Off in the distance he could see the Weasley's red hair among those with black, brown, and blonde. He turned back to the barrier expecting to see Professor Lupin appear there any second, but Ron and Hermione were already waving frantically to him to come join them and Harry walked towards them thinking that Lupin would be coming soon.

            Ron and Hermione had found a compartment in the back of the train and set their stuff down in the rack along the wall.

            "Umm... well we'll see you in a little bit, Harry," said Ron scuffing his feet on the floor while Hermione settled Crookshanks in her basket. Harry suddenly remembered that Ron and Hermione had their prefect duties to attend to.

            "We'll be back in ten minutes, tops." Hermione said taking out a scarlet and gold badge with a lion on it and pinning it on the front of her shirt. Ron did the same and they both walked out the door, leaving Harry quite alone. Harry wondered vaguely where Ginny was, having spent the previous train ride with her, and the realized she must be sitting with Dean Thomas, her boyfriend.

            Harry moodily pushed Ron's trunk up against the wall making more room when he heard the compartment door slide open. Harry turned and saw Luna Lovegood standing in the doorway staring dreamily around the compartment. 

            "Hi," she said, finally letting her wide eyes land on Harry. "Anyone sitting here?" she asked. Harry shook his head, relieved that he was no longer alone. Though, Harry thought, this wasn't much better as Luna was looked on as a sort of freak all her life. But Harry suddenly realized that wasn't that bad as he had been seen as a freak just in the past year. 

            Luna was sporting some unusual clothing Harry noted. She was wearing a baggy blue cardigan over her shoulders with a form-fitting white tank-top underneath. She was also wearing some army green khakis that were so long they dragged on the floor. But what caught Harry's eye the most were her dragon-hide boots with scales that glimmered in the light from the window.

            Luna sat herself down facing Harry. "Why are you here alone? Where is Ronald Weasley and that other girl?"

            Harry raised his eyebrows. "They have prefect duties. They'll be back in ten minutes."

            "Ah," said Luna and crossed her legs and faced the compartment door. "Good summer?" Luna asked still looking at the door expectantly.

            "Uh, yeah," said Harry trying to adapt to the strange behavior exhibited by his companion. He hoped Ron and Hermione would return soon so he wouldn't have to sit here alone with Luna...

            Five minutes later, Harry had immersed himself in _Quidditch through the Ages _rather than try and carry a conversation with Luna. Every so often Harry would look up and she would still be sitting there looking at the door.

            It wasn't until another five minutes later when they heard footsteps coming toward their compartment when Luna turned from the door and said, "My summer was good, though it was a little boring. I helped Daddy with the paper and such...Oh hello Ron!"

            The compartment door had just opened to reveal Ron and Hermione. Hermione looked disdainfully at Luna and moved to sit next to Harry. Ron looked regretful that he had not been quick enough to sit next to Harry also and moved slowly to sit next to Luna who had hurriedly scooted over to make room for him.  

            "So how was your summer, Luna," said Hermione as she scooped up Crookshanks from the floor and onto her lap.

            "Mine was fine; I was just telling Harry that I helped out my father with the newspaper. He seemed to think I was quite able to handle the job. It is a big task you know..."

            Hermione had pulled her mouth into a solid line so that it looked as if she was stopping herself from saying something. "I'm sure it is," Hermione said barely opening her mouth.

            Harry raised his eyebrows at Ron and he too gave him a questioning look. They both knew very well that Hermione had little respect, if any, for Luna's father's newspaper _The Quibbler. But neither of them had seen this strong of tension between them before._

            It wasn't long before people started stopping by their compartment to chat. Ernie Macmillan, Susan Bones, and Hannah Abbot were first to stop by followed by Seamus Finnigan, Neville Longbottom, Dean Thomas, and Ginny.

            "Hey Ron! Hey Harry!" said Dean smiling at his dorm mates. Harry had smiled back and said "Hello" but Ron gave Dean a threatening look and said quite coldly, "Dean." 

            Dean raised his eyebrows at Harry but Harry had covered his mouth in order to muffle his laughter. Harry knew exactly why Ron was being cold to Dean as was demonstrated when Ginny gave Ron a stern look and wrapped her arm around Dean's waist.

            They left quickly after that because Ron wasn't talking to either of them and Harry and Hermione were overcome with suppressed laughter; Luna was once again staring off into space at Ron.

            The rest of the train ride was spent with Hermione reading her copy of _Advanced Charms_ while Ron and Harry talked of Quidditch over a game of chess on Harry's trunk. The chess pieces kept getting confused as to what to do by all the Quidditch talk and kept asking Harry to explain what a Wronski Feint was. Luna did either one of two things; reading _The Quibbler or staring down at Harry and Ron as they played on the floor. _

            When the train had finally rolled to a stop four hours later Harry's neck was stiff from leaning against the window, but none the less he was feeling the excitement that always came when he arrived at Hogwarts. Hogwarts had always been his true home; more than Grimmuald Place, more than the Burrow, and definitely more than Privet Drive. It was the one place that he felt more at home than any other and as he saw its many windows glowing off in the distance Harry felt a sense of calm overtake him.

            Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Luna all stepped off their compartment to the familiar bustling and shouting of students all dragging their trunks with the ever-present hooting of hundreds of owls. Off in the distance Harry could here his friend Hagrid's voice yelling "Firs' years! Firs' years this way!" He stood about six feet taller than the tallest first year for Hagrid, though having a pleasant and caring nature, was quite intimidating at first glance. He stood twice as tall as a full grown man and was three times as wide. It wasn't until two years ago that Harry, Ron, and Hermione had discovered that his abundant size was due to his giantess mother, Fridwulfa. 

           Harry turned to face the hundred or so carriages that students were piling climbing into, laughing and joking with their friends, not a care in the world. But Harry once again saw the skeletal black-winged horses with haunting white eyes that pulled the school carriages. They were called thestrals and only people who had seen someone die were able to see them. Harry sighed as he watched Luna, Ron, and Hermione pile into a carriage in front of him; he had now seen two people die: Cedric and Sirius. He followed Hermione into the carriage and sat down next to her.

            It wasn't long before the hooves of the once invisible horses could be heard and the carriages thundered down the dirt road towards Hogwarts. Harry soon saw his first clear look of the castle for over two months. He looked out the window at its turrets and towers dotted with hundreds of tiny glistening windows that reflected its light on to the smooth black surface of the surrounding lake. Harry could see Hagrid's hut on the grounds, smoke curling out of the chimney while a flock of blackbirds emerged from the treetops of the Forbidden Forest.

            He felt a hand cover his own. It was Hermione's and she said quite softly to him, "Miss it?"

            Harry nodded feeling the warmth of her hand on his cold fingers, "Me too," she said even softer and turned to look out the opposite window. 

            Harry expected her to move her hand, thinking she had only touched it to get his attention, but she did not remove it. A feeling of nervousness arose in his stomach, something he had never felt around Hermione before. He looked down at their hands and was surprised that he could not even see them as it was so dark in the carriage. He relaxed slightly knowing that neither Ron nor Luna would know that their hands were touching. But then suddenly Harry wondered,_ "Why does this even matter? How do I know this is nothing but some a sign friendship from Hermione? _Harry shook his head and tried to think of a logical reason to why Hermione was holding his hand, _"When people hold hands it doesn't mean there is anything romantic going on," _Harry loosened, no longer worrying of complicated romantic feelings, convincing himself that Hermione was probably only trying to keep his hand warm once she had felt how cold it was. But Harry couldn't help but wonder, ten minutes later as they reached the giant double doors to the castle, why she hadn't removed her hand now that his hand was quite warm and sweaty...

            Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Luna stepped into the fabulous entrance hall two minutes later with its giant marble staircase leading to hundreds of rooms and class rooms above.

            There were students milling into the Great Hall for the Welcoming Feast while some stood on the steps waiting for their friends to join them from the carriages. Harry, Ron, and Hermione moved into the equally majestic Great Hall and Harry saw the familiar ceiling, which was made to look like the outside sky, and the thousands of twinkling and glowing candles levitated twenty feel above him. In front of him were the four long House tables where the members of the four Houses, Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin, sat. 

            Harry, Ron, and Hermione proceeded to the Gryffindor table while Luna moved to the Ravenclaw table. The table was already mostly filled with talking and laughing Gryffindors discussing everything from their new robes to what they did for the summer. Harry settled himself between Ron and Hermione and was about to reengage Ron in more Quidditch talk when he saw his former girlfriend, if she could be called that, Cho Chang pass by. She looked disdainfully down at Harry and then saw Hermione looking at her too. She glared at them both before proceeding to the Ravenclaw table, grabbing the arm of a dark-haired boy as she passed. Harry presumed that was Michael Corner, Ginny's ex. 

            Harry looked over at Hermione and raised his eyebrows. Hermione rolled her eyes and smiled giving him a knowing look. The doors to the Great Hall burst open moments later and Professor McGonagall emerged with twenty or so first years trailing her, all looking extremely nervous as the gazed fearfully at the Hall and the students collected their.

            Professor McGonagall was carrying a tall three-legged stool a pathetic-looking old wizard hat perched on top. She walked to the back of the Great Hall where the teacher's table was placed, and set down the stool. Everyone was gazing at the patched and fraying wizard hat as she pulled out a long roll of parchment. Suddenly the hat opened at the brim with a life of its own and all the 11-year old's eyes went wide in either terror or surprise. The hat then burst into a song:

(I'm sorry but I have never been good at poetry writing so please bear with me and pretend that the Hat is singing one of its infamous Sorting songs. Thanks! ~Michelle AD)

            The Hall erupted in cheers and applause as the Sorting Hat finished its song. The first years were still gazing at the hat as though it was telling them their doom. Professor McGonagall stepped forward and unrolled her Parchment and called out the first name:

            "Austin, Jessica!" she said in a ringing voice as a small girl with braided pigtails stumbled forward looking about ready to faint. She sat atop the stool and Professor McGonagall lowered the hat upon her head.

            The Sorting Hat only needed about five seconds to deliberate and then brim opened wide and shouted, "GRYFFINDOR!"

            Harry and the others at their table stood clapping loudly as the small girl sighed with relief and practically ran to Gryffindor table in order to get out of the spotlight. In addition to Jessica, three other girls became Gryffindors: Damiana Carlson, Olivia Harrison, and Marisa Sanders. They received four boys too: Gregory Lapka, Samuel Morrison, Jacob Moore, and Matthew Chen.

            When the last first year took her seat, (Williams, Laura; HUFFLEPUFF) the Hall quieted and everyone looked up to the Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore. He was dressed in deep forest green robes that had twinkling bronze stars embroidered into its fabric. He still wore his half-moon spectacles that sat on his long crooked nose above his long flowing white beard. He was exactly as Harry remembered him, as he stood there smiling at his students, exactly as he always wanted to remember Albus Dumbledore.

            Dumbledore opened his arms wide in welcome and said in a calm, yet powerful voice, "Welcome! Welcome to another year at Hogwarts! No doubt all of you are tired from your long journey, so I won't hold you up a moment longer. Tuck in!"

            There were murmurs of content and a second later the brilliantly polished golden dishes on each table filled magically with delicious foods and desserts. Ron and Harry dove into the food, Harry choosing to indulge in a huge hunk of ham while Ron ripped off a drumstick from a nearby roast turkey. Hermione shook her head and daintily scooped mashed potatoes onto her plate.

            "Honestly you two eat like Neanderthals, didn't you ever hear about that new thing called manners?" she said haughtily as she watched Ron stuff his mouth with rice and broccoli.

            "Manners are thor people hoo aren't starvin'!" Ron said through the rice.  

            Thirty minutes later Harry was gulping the last of his treacle pudding and the Hall once again fell to silence as Dumbledore stood.

            "I'd like to welcome all our new first years to Hogwarts and also welcome back all our returning students. I'd also like to make a few announcements. Mr. Filch has asked me to tell you all that all products from the Weasley Wizard Wheezes store are herby forbidden from Hogwarts," Dumbledore stopped, smirking slightly as more than half the students in the hall looked guiltily down at their now empty plates. "The full list of forbidden items is posted in your common room and on Mr. Filch's office door. Also I'd like to welcome back two members of our teaching staff; Professor Hagrid and Professor Trelawnley." 

            Harry clapped loudly along with the rest of the Gryffindors as Hagrid waved around to them. The rest of the House tables were putting their hands together slowly in unenthusiastic applause. Professor Trelawnley was nowhere to be seen and Harry guessed that she was holed up in her smoky North Tower office trying to unclog her non-existent Eye. 

            "We also have a new staff member to teach the Defense Against the Dark Arts position as Professor Umbridge, unfortunately, was unable to continue." Dumbledore, however, looked as though this was not unfortunate at all and continued, "Please welcome back Professor Remus Lupin!"

            Harry's jaw dropped. He had never noticed that to Dumbledore's left there was a familiar face. Professor Lupin stood and smiled at them wearing royal blue robes that looked brand new as three of the four house tables erupted in cheers and whoops. The Slytherin table had remained quiet, looking mutinous. 

            Harry couldn't think of a better person to replace Professor Umbridge as he smiled up at Professor Lupin. Things were definitely changing for the better at Hogwarts.

            "Settle down, settle down," said Dumbledore grinning as the prolonged applause continued. "I also have another important announcement. It is my pleasure to inform you that the teachers and I have decided to bring back the Yule Ball to Hogwarts..." Dumbledore stopped, for quite a few girls around the Hall had let out shrieks and began whispering and giggling to their neighbors.

            Harry turned with his mouth open to Hermione. "You knew didn't you?"

            She smiled at him and said, "Professor McGonagall hinted to me their might be one."

            "Wow, the things you learn when you're a teacher's pet!" Harry said with an air of mock annoyance.

            "Hey!" said Hermione laughing and punched him in the arm lightly. Harry laughed too and turned to face Dumbledore.

            "It will be held on the Friday before Christmas break, so that those leaving for the holidays will not miss the Ball," he continued as the Hall quieted. "I have just one more thing to say... Now with the return of Lord Voldemort apparent to the Wizarding World, it is more important than ever to reach out to others and form bonds of friendship and respect..." 

            Almost everyone in the hall had gasped when Dumbledore had said Voldemort's name and adopted worried expressions of fear and apprehension. But Harry was glad to see that Dumbledore's words were not met with outrage and disbelief, as they would have been a few months ago. Now everyone believed that Voldemort was back. Now everyone believed Dumbledore. Now everyone believed Harry...

            "Reach out to those you do not know. Approach someone you wouldn't and learn to respect people no matter how they think or act. Only when we can trust and understand people here at Hogwarts will we be able to face and defeat the Darkness we will meet outside of it. That is all I have to say. Goodnight to all of you and see you tomorrow morning."  

            Harry got up with the rest of the students and proceeded to follow Ron and Hermione as Ron shouted "Hey all you midgets, follow me!" 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thanks for all your wonderful reviews everyone! I'm sorry this one is late as I've been having a hectic week. Keep reading and thank you again! ~Michelle AD


	7. Back to the Everyday

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters mentioned in this fanfiction. Harry Potter and all characters from the Harry Potter Series are property of J.K. Rowling.

**New Beginnings**

**Chapter Seven:  Back to the Everyday**

            Harry dragged himself out of bed on Monday, not looking forward to his classes that would start that morning. It wasn't until five minutes later that he realized that he was putting on his regular clothing and quickly went back and changed in to the standard Hogwarts uniform of black slacks, a gray sweater, and a red and gold tie. As his fingers fiddled with his tie, his roommates in the surrounding four-poster beds stirred; Neville sat up groggily rubbing his eyes, Dean yawned hugely and swung his legs over the side of the bed, while Seamus' hands could be seen pushing against the bed curtains trying to find its opening. 

            Ron continued to doze as the sleepy boys stumbled noisily about the room. Harry straightened his tie and walked toward Ron's bed, "Ron! Wake up!" Harry said wrenching apart his curtains. "C'mon, first day of class!" Ron remained motionless. Harry sighed and reached for his wand on his bedside table. He had long ago been given the task of waking up Ron and it was especially hard when he was so used to sleeping late. 

            Harry pointed his wand at Ron, his roommates taking no notice of his actions, and muttered, "_Fluvius__!" Immediately a jet of cold water erupted from the tip of Harry's long wand and splattered over Ron's back and head._

            "AH!" Ron shouted sputtering out water and gagging. He promptly fell out of bed, attempting to orient himself. Harry pocketed his wand quickly, hoping that Ron would be too sleepy to remember what had woken him up and why exactly he was wet.

            Fifteen minutes later, Harry and Ron were descending the grand marble stair case to the great Hall for breakfast. Hermione was already seated munching on buttered toast and reading _Advanced Transfiguration. Ron sat down next to her and Harry across from Ron. Harry helped himself to toast and eggs while Ron looked at Hermione as though he was pondering something._

            "Hermione," Ron said, "what's your first class?"

            Hermione inserted a finger into her book to mark her page, "I have... Oh wait! No, I said I wouldn't tell you." 

            "Oh c'mon Hermione we are going to know sooner or later. I can't believe you're not going to tell us what your career is!" 

            Hermione smiled, "You'll know soon enough, won't you?" She closed her book and walked off through the Great Hall's doors. Ron craned his neck to see which direction she had moved to and then sighed and helped himself to some sausage, eggs, ham, and rolls.

            Harry was slightly nervous about his first class, N.E.W.T.s Transfiguration. He already knew that Ron had dropped this class and there was no guarantee that Hermione would have it also, though he had a feeling that she would since it was one of her favorite classes. He opened the door to Professor McGonagall's classroom door with growing apprehension of who his classmates may be. He saw Dean Thomas sitting next to Lavender Brown while to their left Ernie Macmillan settled himself next to Susan Bones. Harry also recognized Anthony Goldstein, a Ravenclaw prefect, next to a girl he didn't know. Everyone smiled at Harry as he entered, except for a burly looking Slytherin who glared at him. Not wanting to sit himself next to the Slytherin, Harry moved to the very back of the class room alone. He looked around anxiously. Hermione did not seem to be here and she certainly wouldn't be late to her first class. 

            Professor McGonagall strode into the classroom setting down a large pile of papers in files, her eyes gazing around sharply at her assembled class.

            Harry bent down to reach into his bag to remove Fred's old copy of _Advanced Transfiguration_ that he had lent to him. It looked quite new as though it had never been opened...

            Harry suddenly heard the slamming of a door followed by scurrying feet. He pulled his head up and saw Hermione running toward Professor McGonagall, looking out of breath with her cheeks pink and her hair falling out of her bun.

            "I'm sorry Professor!" Hermione said, her voice ringing out over the quiet classroom. "I got caught up in the library reading the most interesting theory on Cross-Species..."

            Harry rolled his eyes as the rest of the class sighed.

            "That's quite alright, dear," said Professor McGonagall giving Hermione one of her rare smiles. "Now go ahead and sit down and try not to be late next time."

            Hermione smiled apologetically and walked back to Harry's table. Harry gave her a surly look as she sat down. He and everyone else in the classroom knew all too well that if they had shown up late for class they would have had points taken from their house.  

            "So you got Transfiguration, huh?" Harry mumbled as he and Hermione turned to Chapter Two: Understanding Advanced Methods of Animal Transfiguration. 

            Hermione nodded silently as Professor McGonagall wrote the directions on the blackboard in elegant white lettering with her wand. Then, barely moving her lips, she whispered. "I wasn't reading a theory. I fell asleep."

            Harry's eyes widened with genuine surprise. Hermione giggled, barely audible, at the look on his face. "Don't tell Ron! He'd have a full week's worth of jokes for that." 

            Harry laughed out loud but very silently...

            "Potter! Do you think you could keep your conversations outside of my classroom?" Harry's head snapped forward to face Professor McGonagall, suddenly marveling at the fact that Hermione had somehow mastered the skill of staying out of trouble with teachers, for he was sure he had not laughed louder than her. "Do not make me separate you two," Professor McGonagall said turning back to the blackboard. Harry and Hermione shut up quickly after that.

            They spent the rest of the lesson writing down complicated methods of animal transfiguration, occasionally catching each other's eye and turning away, smirking. 

            Harry and Hermione walked out of the Transfiguration an hour later, joining the crowd of students hurrying down the hallways. They had received very little homework, surprisingly. Only to finish reading Chapter Two: Understanding Advanced Methods of Animal Transfiguration. 

            "So," Harry said as he and Hermione walked side by side through a crowd of Hufflepuff fourth years, "You have Transfiguration...What do you have after lunch?"

            Hermione merely smiled and followed Harry as they turned left into a more deserted corridor.

            "I can't believe we got so little homework for the first day! Is that normal?" she said, clearly avoiding Harry's question.

            "I dunno," Harry replied as he saw a figure with vibrant red hair streak down the hall towards them. It was Ron and as he stopped in front of them, Harry realized that he wasn't in the best of moods.

            "Eugh, History of Magic was horrible," Ron said as he readjusted his book bag. "Without you there, Hermione, I don't know how I am going to pass!" 

            Hermione gave him a disgusted look. "You could take notes, Ron. I'm not always going to be there to let you cheat!" 

             Ron sneered and turned to Harry, who had been rubbing his temple in annoyance at their seemingly endless bickering. "C'mon lets go have lunch. I'm starving!"

            "Oh, there's a surprise," Hermione said under her breath as she and Harry followed Ron down a deserted staircase to their right. 

            They entered the Great Hall, which was alive with noise, and headed for the Gryffindor Table. They found empty spaces next to a large group of chattering fourth-year girls. The only topic they seemed to be discussing was the Yule Ball.

            Hermione rolled her eyes as she sat herself between Harry and Ron, "Honestly. Its only September 2nd and already they can't shut up about that stupid Ball."

            "I didn't like the last one. I don't think I'll go this year..." Harry said, reaching for a roll in an ornate silver dish shaped like a phoenix. 

            "But you have to!" Hermione cried, her eyes wide. 

            "Why? This way I won't have to worry about getting a date or anything."

            "Well... You've already picked out your dress robes! It'd be a shame if you never used them!" she said desperately.

            "Yeah, but getting a date..." 

            Hermione cut him off. "Believe me Harry, there is not a girl in this _entire_ school who wouldn't love to go to the Ball with you!" 

            Harry snaked his head around to look at Ron, who raised his eyebrows at him, smirking slightly. Harry sighed. "You see? You just said it." Harry mumbled to Hermione. "They'd only love going with me because I'm Harry Potter."

            Harry looked at Hermione's stricken face, "Oh, Ha..."

            Harry cut her off. "I shouldn't get involved with anyone this year, anyway..." He said in an after thought, remembering the prophecy. It would be unfair of him to put a girl through this, knowing his life was already decided.

            "Why on earth not?" Hermione said indignantly.

            Harry looked down at his bread roll and began tearing it apart with his fingers. He had forgotten that he hadn't told Ron or Hermione about the prophecy. He knew he couldn't bear to see the stricken look on Hermione's face or the terrified expression Ron would wear. 

            "If this is about Cho, Harry," Hermione said, giving an ugly look towards the Ravenclaw Table. "I think you're well rid of her. She wasn't really your type."

            Harry looked up from his torn roll. She thought the reason was Cho. Harry seized the excuse. "Yeah she wasn't really, was she? Maybe I'll go," He said giving a small smile to Hermione.

            Hermione looked relieved and turned, finally, to get some food from the table. Ron, however, was looking down at his plate of sandwiches, one hand on his goblet of pumpkin juice. He was clearly thinking.

            Harry, Ron, and Hermione all left the table ten minutes before their next class. Harry and Ron had Charms and Hermione had still refused to tell them her next class.

            Three minutes later, after ascending three staircases and walking down five corridors, Harry pulled open the door to Professor Flitwick's classroom. He walked inside with Ron following. To his surprise he saw Hermione enter too and begin walking to the back of the class after Ron. Harry's heart leapt. He now had two classes with one of his best friends. 

            This class was quite a bit larger than his Transfiguration class, due to the fact that Charms was usually a class most students did very well in, unlike Transfiguration. He walked to the back of the class and settled himself between Hermione and Ron who seemed to have sat purposely apart. The class was full of chattering 6th years from all four houses. Harry saw that Dean Thomas, Seamus Finnigan, and Neville Longbottom, his fellow dorm mates, all had this class too. 

            Five minutes later tiny Professor Flitwick was climbing his towering pile of books to get to his chair to call role.  They were soon learning some of the most complicated charms Harry, Ron, and Hermione had ever seen and it was suddenly very clear why Professor Flitwick was so good at dueling. The entire class watched him in awe as he twirled his wand with ease and precision, causing bursts of multi-colored light to emit from it.  

Some of the wand movements were so complicated that only Hermione was able to master it, but all three of them were quite pleased with themselves when they were the only ones capable of performing a Disillusionment Charm on their first try. All three of them left with colored dots in their eyes that reminded Harry of Picture Day at his old school in the Muggle world. Surprisingly, they once again received very little homework which was only to practice the Confundus Charm before the next lesson. 

            As they exited Professor Flitwick's classroom, Hermione removed her wand and began moving it in three small circles then jabbing it upwards, all the while muttering _"Cunfundus!"_

            "Hermione, you know we're not supposed to do magic in the halls!" Ron scolded.

            Hermione gave him a disbelieving look, shaking her head and smiling. "Like you ever cared before!" 

            "Well, I could report you!" Ron said trying to look serious but failing spectacularly.

            Hermione laughed and pointed her wand a vine growing into the castle from an open window. _"Confundus!"  The vine began to quiver and sway in different directions. It looked to Harry as though it was unsure of which way to grow. But what was bothering Harry more was the feeling of being left out. Ron and Hermione were prefects and as such had duty and privileges Harry did not. _

            Harry moved away from Ron and Hermione and their laughter and looked down the quiet corridor. He suddenly realized with a jolt that this was the corridor he had dreamt about at Grimmuald Place. He wheeled around, hoping he wouldn't see Ron and Hermione doing what he had dreamt.

            Harry sighed as he saw Ron moving towards him and Hermione setting the vine to rights. Harry didn't know why, but the thought of Ron and Hermione holding hands, as they had in his dream, made him feel uneasy. Harry shook his head and turned left onto a tall staircase where he could hear the footsteps of many students above. Harry winced as he climbed upwards, thinking grimly of his first class tomorrow: Potions.

            The next morning, Harry found himself looking down the cold corridor, lined with dungeons, to Professor Snape's classroom. Ron had Herbology that morning and Hermione had once again left breakfast early without telling him her next class. If there was one class where Harry did not want to be alone in it was Potions. Professor Snape hated Harry with a passion, which Harry full-heartedly returned. Harry had been looking forward all last year to being rid of this class until Professor McGonagall told him it was required to become an Auror. 

            He sighed deeply before pushing open the heavy wooden door, resolving to himself that he would not let Snape get to him this year. He had already proved to him that he was good enough for this class. 

            Professor Snape had not yet arrived from breakfast, Harry saw mild disbelief. He was even more surprised that this class only contained five people, not including him. It seemed many people had been lucky enough to escape this class. He recognized Susan Bones from Hufflepuff sitting in a table in the back, but also four of his least favorite people at Hogwarts: Pansy Parkinson, Vincent Crabbe, Gregory Goyle, and Draco Malfoy. All four of them sneered at Harry, which Harry returned as he moved towards the back. His eyes then fell upon someone with bushy hair sitting at a table in the very back whom he had not seen before.

            Harry smiled with relief at the familiar sight. Harry went and sat down next to her.

            "Hermione! So you have Potions too!" Harry said, barely containing his delight.

            Hermione opened her mouth to speak but closed it quickly as the dungeon door swung open. Professor Snape strode in looking just as menacing, and just as evil as the previous year. He still wore his long black ominous looking robes that matched is oily black hair that fell around his face and prominent nose.  

            He glared around at his classroom, his look softening a bit as they fell on the Slytherins. 

            "As surprising as it is that some of you are in this class," he drawled, looking directly at Harry, causing Draco Malfoy to snicker. "All of you are here to learn nothing like you have previously. You will be brewing potions that only the best potion masters attempt. They will require absolute precision and care. They must be perfect in every way," He said, his cold voice, "in order for you to pass." 

            Hermione sniffed. 

            "Silence!" he said rounding on Harry and Hermione. "Ah," he said, his voice changing into a malevolent whisper, "Potter and Granger. I see we've lost the third member of the dream team. Pity we couldn't loose all of you." The Slytherins could barely contain their laughter. "Now I can't have you two lovebirds talking back here all through my class..."

            "Bones!" he shouted making Susan jump. "Take Granger's place and Granger go sit next to Goyle. Move!"

            Hermione gathered her things, giving Harry a gloomy look, and moved towards the front of the class. Susan plopped her things next Harry and sat down. She smiled at him and Harry smiled back, thinking he was pretty lucky to sit next to Susan. She was a very nice girl and a former member of the DA. She also had an uncle, aunt, and cousins killed by Voldemort's Deatheaters. 

            They spent the rest of the class taking notes on the Draught of Ecstasy and how it mustn't be taken in large doses or the drinker may die of sheer happiness, Harry all the while thinking that it wouldn't be so bad to die of happiness just about now. It was one of the most complicated potions Harry had ever seen described, and he seriously doubted whether he would be able to do it, let alone with Snape breathing down his neck. 

            When the bell rang, Harry was the first one out of the classroom practically sprinting up the staircase to the Great Hall, not waiting for Hermione. He stopped only when he heard Hermione's indignant voice coming from the stairs. 

            "Fine, don't wait for me!" she said out of breath closing her book bag. 

            "Sorry, but you...."

            "I know. I know." She said giving him a sympathetic look and walking into the Great Hall. "Hasn't changed much, has he?" Harry laughed and followed her inside.

            Harry was just reaching for an orange from a giant fruit bowl when Ron sat down beside him. 

            "I never want to prune another Biting Hibiscus again!" he said vehemently. "Hey, what are we going to do for our free period? Hagrid or study hall?

            "I think we should go to Hagrid's class. I already signed us up for it anyway and we don't have much homework," Hermione said, pulling out her class schedule. Ron craned his neck to see it, but Hermione pulled it towards her giving him a stern look. Harry laughed and told him what he knew so far about Hermione's classes.

            Twenty minutes later Harry, Ron, and Hermione were walking across the green lawns over to Hagrid's hut. There was already a small crowd of 6th years there and Harry's heart soared as he saw not a single Slytherin was among them. He recognized, once again, Hannah Abbot, Ernie Macmillan, and Susan Bones from Hufflepuff. He also saw Anthony Goldstein and Padma Patil from Ravenclaw. The only other Gryffindor he saw beside himself, Ron, and Hermione was Neville.

            "Hagrid!" Harry said smiling and walking towards him. Hagrid turned from attaching a leash to Fang and pulled Harry into a rib-shattering hug. 

            "Harry, good teh see yeh, mate, good teh see yeh!" he beamed finally releasing Harry who gasped for breath. 

             "What have you got here, Hagrid?" Hermione said smiling, but stepping away as Hagrid moved toward her, obviously attempting to hug her too. 

            "Oh, yeh'll see in a bit!" Hagrid said delightedly, turning to face the class.

            "'Right, well I'd like to welcome back all of yeh and I'd like to tell yeh that I got some of the best creatures you've ever seen in all your years here!"

            The class looked around uncertainly. None of them new exactly what he meant by the "best" creatures they've ever seen. 

            "We have to go a bit into the fores'. Not to worry though..." he said smiling around at the now horrified class. "C'mon follow me!" 

            Everyone hesitated. The prospect of going into the Forbidden Forest was not appealing at all. Harry was the first to step forward and follow Hagrid trailed by Hermione, then Ron and the rest of the class. They walked around Hagrid's cabin and garden full of small pumpkins and long strings of green beans until they were submerged inside the forest. 

            Just as it had done every time Harry had ever entered it, the light was suddenly and abruptly cut off by the high cover of the surrounding trees. Harry followed Hagrid's looming form for about five minutes until Hagrid waved to him to stop. They had come to a wide clearing where there was not a leaf on the ground and pacing around in the middle of it was an amazing creature Harry had only seen in books. It was a brilliantly white horse, but it was not a unicorn. Instead of a golden horn, it had golden wings, which Harry could tell would cover an area of ten feet when spread apart. It was pawing the ground nervously with its silver hooves, tossing its white mane, and flapping its wings agitatedly. Harry wondered why it didn't fly away if it was so threatened. 

            Hagrid's low voice interrupted his thoughts. "This 'ere is a Pegasus."

            Hermione, Susan Bones, Hannah Abbot, and Padma Patil all gasped with delight while the boys looked on in awe. 

            Hagrid slowly moved toward the creature, signaling them to follow. The girls rushed forward, but the boys hesitated. Harry wondered if they were at all like unicorns meaning they didn't like boys very much.

            Slowly they all grouped around the white horse that seemed to calm slightly as Hagrid stroked its neck. 

            "Hagrid, where did you get him?" Hermione asked in a whisper as she stroked the Pegasus's feathery wings.

            "Got him from a bloke I know. I can't keep it of course, but I got 'em for a few weeks," Hagrid explained. "Now go ahead all of yeh. He won't bite. Pegasuses like people; it's when they aren't aroun' people that they get nervous." 

            Harry put his hand on the creature's back and was surprised at the pleasantly cool feel, like spring water. Hagrid continued, "Now Pegasuses get on very well with people, as they have for thousands of years since the time of the Greeks. They are protectors, so teh speak. They also have loads of magical powers!" 

            Hagrid continued ranting so fast that Harry barely understood what he was saying, but Harry was far too interested in examining the Pegasus's long white mane to care much. Harry thought from far away it was just normal hair, but now that he was closer the hairs looked clear and inside each follicle were the colors of thousands of rainbows. Harry looked around and saw Hermione stroking the animal's face as it gazed peacefully at her.

            Harry went to join her and began stroking its neck until he was startled by the Pegasus's entrancing eyes. They were a brilliant blue, but somehow clouded, as though they were reflecting the sky. Harry suddenly realized that this animal seemed to be the very essence the sky: full of rainbows, clouds, and golden suns. 

            As Harry walked back through the Forbidden Forest, he couldn't help thinking that that had to be their best Care for Magical Creatures lesson ever.

            "No homework, Hagrid?" Ron said from Harry's left as they finally emerged from the darkness of the trees into the blinding afternoon sun. 

            "No not really, just read that chapter on Pegasuses." Hagrid said smiling. 

            Ron smiled, but Hermione looked up at him wearing a frown. "Hagrid, we seem to be getting way too little homework for the first week. Do you know why?"

            "Well thas simple, Hermione. This is yeh 6th year. The easiest year after your first probably. You won't be getting much homework."

            Harry's and Ron's jaws dropped, as did Hermione's, but not out of shock.

            "Why on Earth not, Hagrid? We have N.E.W.T.s next year after all!" she cried indignantly as Harry and Ron positively beamed with delight.

            "Thas right, next year, Hermione," Hagrid said as they walked behind his cottage and onto the wide lawn leading to the school. "You've got plenty of time. Not teh worry. This is year is made to relax you after you went through your O.W.L.s.  

            Hermione still looked quite scandalized as the rest of the class moved toward the castle, but Harry stayed near Hagrid.

            "Will you relax this year too Hagrid, or do you have things to take care of in the forest?" Harry said hoping Hagrid would understand what he was talking about. 

            "Oh. Oh." Hagrid muttered looking around furtively. "Yeah, Grawpy's still there. Don't worry though Harry," Hagrid added quickly seeing Harry's worried face. "He's doin' loads better, he is, now on with you three." He said waving his hands toward the castle. 

            Harry, Ron, and Hermione exchanged worried looks but said goodbye to Hagrid and headed toward the castle. 

            At dinner Harry was very surprised when Professor McGonagall asked to speak to him halfway through desert. She pulled him aside into the entrance hall, Harry, all the while wondering what on Earth he had done this time.

            "Potter, I have something very important to tell you," she said as Harry braced himself for her accusations, but as he looked into her face he was quite startled to see a smile gracing her thin lips. "I have decided to make you the new Gryffindor Quidditch captain."

            Harry stood dumbfounded, his jaw hanging open, before he registered what his Head of House had said.

            "Wha..." Harry stuttered.

            "That's right Potter. You're the new Quidditch captain. You were the obvious choice as you have been on the team five years and understand the game completely. You won't let me down will you, Potter? You know how important this is," she said, giving him a stern look.

            "I guess this means I'm back on the team then," Harry said stupidly, still having trouble comprehending this shocking announcement. 

            Professor McGonagall's smile widened. "Yes, Potter, you're back on. Now go finish your dinner and remember you have two Beaters and two Chasers to replace."

            Professor McGonagall pushed him towards the Great Hall as Harry seemed to have lost all sense of direction. Harry stumbled back inside, almost sitting down at the Hufflepuff table until he realized where he was.

            "Well what did she want?" Ron asked eagerly, spooning mashed potatoes onto his plate as Harry collapsed beside him.

            "She...she..." Harry said barely louder than a whisper. Ron and Hermione looked up from their dinners, obviously thinking something horrible. Ginny and Neville leaned forward to listen also. "She made me Quidditch Captain..."

            "What!" Ginny cried shrilly, dropping her fork with a clatter.

            "Wow, Harry!" Neville said in awe.

            "That's wonderful Harry! I knew they would pick you! You were the obvious choice," Hermione said beaming and giving Harry a quick hug. 

            "I guess you're back on the team then," Ron said, giving Harry and indifferent look.

            Harry laughed, not noticing the lack of excitement from his best friend. "That's exactly what I asked her!" 

            "Hey Harry! When are you going to have tryouts?" Ginny said excitably. "I can't wait tryout for Chaser! I really need to get practicing..."

            The rest of the meal was spent discussing Quidditch as Harry's fellow House members came over to wring his hand and congratulate him. By the end of the meal, everyone had heard that Harry was the new Gryffindor Quidditch Captain, judging by the sour look on Draco Malfoy's face. 

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Sorry it took so long for the next chapter. I've had quite a busy week and I hope this chapter meets with your approval. Thank you all for the reviews and I'll try and update real soon! Thank you again. ~Michelle AD


	8. New Beginnings

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters mentioned in this fanfiction. Harry Potter and all characters from the Harry Potter Series are property of J.K. Rowling.

**New Beginnings**

**Chapter Eight: New Beginnings**

Harry's euphoria lasted all through the night, helped along by his fellow Gryffindors who threw an impromptu celebration in his honor. The common room was draped in red and gold banners. There were several large posters of Harry riding his Firebolt with his hand extending toward a small, winged ball. There was also a large picture of Harry carrying the silver Quidditch cup above his head, surrounded by a crowd of on-lookers. Several of the people in the crowd were his fellow Gryffindors, Harry noted, as he saw Hermione's portrait staring up in awe at the glorified Harry.

            The room was alive with laughter and Harry was quickly pulled into a conversation, discussing the try-outs and the now "obvious fact" that Gryffindor was going to win the Quidditch cup. But as they talked Harry felt for the first time the pressure of being Captain. He would have to make up plays and tactics for his team, hold practices, and pick four new team members. At the moment there were only three, Ron as Keeper, Katie Bell as a Chaser, and Harry as the Seeker.

            Harry slowly backed away from the conversation, as Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan animatedly debated over who the Slytherin's new Captain would be. Harry moved towards the fire where Hermione was sitting, her feet tucked under herself and holding Crookshanks on her lap as she sipped from a bottle of butterbeer. 

            "Hey," Harry said, plopping down next to her on the sofa.

            "Hey, Captain." Hermione said smiling slightly. "I'm really proud of you, Harry. I know you'll be a great captain."

            "You think so?" Harry sighed, looking over her head at the poster, as portrait Ron, clapped portrait Harry on the back. 

            "I know so," Hermione said certainly. "I know it's a lot of work, but you can do it."

            Crookshanks jumped off Hermione's lap and onto Harry's. Harry winced as he sunk his claws through his jeans. Hermione scooted towards Harry and pulled Crookshanks' rump onto her lap, but his front paws remained clinging to Harry.

            Harry and Hermione's legs were now touching and Harry felt a jolt somewhere in his stomach, which was not helped when Hermione leaned over and began pulling Crookshanks' claws out of Harry's leg, one by one. Harry tried to steady himself as Hermione's hand brushed his leg. He couldn't understand why sitting so close to Hermione was making him so uneasy. 

            "Sorry about that!" Hermione said repeatedly, while Harry said "That's ok" repeatedly in a slightly higher voice than normal.

            Hermione finally got Crookshanks fully onto her lap and Harry sighed with relief. Harry looked around the room packed with students, who normally would have been studying if not for this unexpected announcement. Across the room he saw Jack Sloper and Andrew Kirke, once Beaters on the Gryffindor team but who had now told Harry they didn't like being on the team much and would rather resign. They were now swaying drunkenly accompanied by two other boys in 3rd year who were singing.

            "Potter is our King,"

            "Potter is our King," 

            Hermione laughed as Dean and Seamus joined them in the adlibbed song. Harry remembered when the Slytherins had sung a different, and more prepared, version of this song for Ron at Quidditch games, but they did not compliment him in anyway as this song was doing for Harry. 

            Harry suddenly spun around, his eyes searching the room. _Where was Ron?_  But that thought was suddenly disappeared from his mind when he felt a weight against his shoulder and the familiar flip-flopping of his stomach. Hermione's head was leaning against his shoulder, her bushy hair spilling onto his chest, shaking with silent laughter. Harry suddenly stiffened out of unexplained fear. His breathing became more labored, which Harry immediately tried to suppress so Hermione wouldn't notice.  He checked to see if Hermione had somehow fallen asleep. She had not, as her deep chocolate eyes were open and staring up at him, glimmering in the firelight.

            Harry relaxed slightly and found himself smiling as he looked at her. He suddenly felt as though he should rest his head on hers.

             Harry slowly leaned against her and they sat pleasantly for a few minutes just listening to their fellow Gryffindors sing as the light from the fire flickered over them. He didn't know why, but Harry couldn't remember a time when he had felt more calm and relaxed then he was right at this moment. All seemed right in the world.         

            "Where do you think Ron is?" Harry asked pleasantly.

            Hermione's head suddenly shot up and Harry immediately missed the feeling.

            "I think he went to bed," Hermione said looking worried as she gazed towards the boy's dormitory staircase and Harry suddenly realized he hadn't seen Ron since he walked into the common room. "When you go up there Harry, er, don't talk about being captain, ok?"

            Harry gave her a quizzical look, "Er, alright," and he stood up, walking towards the boy's staircase, passing Dean with his arm around Ginny as he went. Seamus and the Creevey brothers tried to pull Harry back into the party, thrusting butterbeers into his arms, but Harry shaked them off and climbed up the stairs, stopping at the door that was labeled "6th Years."

            When he entered he saw Ron lying on his stomach on his four-poster bed. He was reading the magazine _Which Broomstick and looked up at Harry, when he entered, with a mildly interested expression._

            "Back already?" Ron said conversationally, turning a page of the magazine which had displayed the new model of the Comet Two-Sixty. 

            "Why weren't you down there, Ron?" Harry said, moving towards his bed, kicking off his shoes as he went.

            "Oh, you know, a little too crowded down there for my liking. Besides, _you_ didn't seem to notice I was gone," Ron's voice faded away at the last words, but he was still flipping through his magazine nonchalantly.

            "I did notice," Harry said defensively. "And you should have been down there anyway as you are on the team and a prefect. Something could've gotten out of hand. You can't leave Hermione to take charge all the time," Harry continued, slightly miffed that Ron hadn't apologized for not being down there.

            Ron turned to look at Harry, finally closing the magazine. There was a slight sneer on his face. "Well, I'm sure you could have taken care of it since you _are Harry_ _Potter_ and the Quidditch captain..."

            Harry stood still, one hand still on his shirt which he had been unbuttoning. He didn't know how to respond. Hermione had told him not to talk about being captain.

            "Uh, well it would have been nice if you'd been down there," Harry said turning away, deciding not to longer hassle Ron about it, but Ron didn't seem quite finished yet.

            "Oh, so I could hear them sing _my song to you?" Ron said his voice raising._

            Harry spun around. Ron was standing up now, his bare feet on the hard stone floor, with an angry expression on his face. Harry was utterly confused. _Why was Ron so angry with him?_

            "No," Harry said uncertainly. "No, because you're my best mate..."

            Ron let out a bitter little laugh. "Well you didn't seem to miss me when you were so cozy down there with Hermione!"

            Harry stared. Had Ron been watching them? Was that why he was so upset?

            "Ron, what's wrong?" Harry asked not taking his eyes off his best friend, his hazel eyes squinting menacingly. "Is this about Hermione?"

            Ron glared at him for a moment and then began pacing back and forth by his bed. "It's just that you got kicked off the team and haven't played for a year and I'm the one who won the Quidditch Cup last year!" He was now ranting, his arms waving rapidly. "It was me. I'm the one who won it. I did! No one else! And now, just because your Dumbledore's favorite _boy_, all of a sudden your Captain after a year of not playing!"

            Harry tried not to show the hurt on his face. As much as Ron's words stung, Harry could not help feeling they were true. He probably didn't deserve being Captain after not playing so long. But what hurt Harry the most was that the only people who had ever heard call him "Dumbledore's favorite boy" were Draco Malfoy and Draco's father.

            Harry buttoned up his shirt and reached down to put on his shoes again.

            "What are you doing?" Ron asked standing in front of him with his arm folded.

            Harry didn't answer until both of his shoes were on. "I can't have you mad at me because I'm Captain. I'm going to tell McGonagall I don't want the job," Harry said moving towards the door, knowing that Ron's eyes were on him. 

            His hand was on the doorknob, when Ron called out to him. "Wait!" 

            Harry turned around and saw Ron looking down at the floor, his arms still crossed. "No, I don't want you to do that. If it couldn't have been me, I'm glad... I'm glad... it's you... mate."

            Harry stared at Ron, thinking he would have to get used to being confused. "What? Are you sure? I don't deserve to be Captain..."

            Ron cut him off, "Yes you do! You deserved to be prefect too."

            Harry shook his head, not wanting to discuss the reason why he wasn't a prefect, and walked back towards his bed. He had never seen Ron act so, so selfless. As he walked back Ron smiled and clapped him on the back. They spent the rest of the night talking about Quidditch and maneuvers they could perform to stun the Slytherin team senseless, though Harry felt the conversation was a little forced on Ron's part.

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            When Harry went down to breakfast that morning he was once again greeted with cheers from the Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff tables. It wasn't until Harry was seated and blushing furiously that the clapping and cheering died away. 

            Harry closed his eyes to calm himself only to find, when he opened them, that the Creevey brothers were spooning scrambled eggs and sausages on to his plate in a kind of frenzied excitement. Harry shooed them away while Colin tried to place a fourth sausage on his plate.

            Harry sighed. "So we got study hall after breakfast?" Harry asked already knowing the answer but wanting more to wipe the smirks off his best friend's faces.

            "Yes," Hermione said still smiling and checking her schedule.

            Harry, Ron, and Hermione walked out of the Great Hall towards the library fifteen minutes later with the sounds of cheering and applause still ringing in their ears. It was then that they saw a tall figure in deep burgundy robes stride towards them from the end of the hall.

            "Harry! Hermione! Ron! Over here!" It was Remus Lupin. It was the first time they had seen him since the Welcoming Feast. 

            "Professor Lupin!" Hermione cried shrilly running towards him. Professor Lupin pulled her into a one armed hug and then shook Harry's and Ron's hands. 

            "I was wondering when I'd see you three," he said smiling around at them. "Congratulations on being Captain, Harry!"

            "Congratulations on being the Dark Arts teacher!" Harry said smiling widely. 

            Hermione had a slightly worried expression on her face. "I can't believe you got the job. How did you ever convince them to re-hire you?"

            "I'll explain everything in my office." Lupin said, turning to a door at his right and opening it. Harry, Ron, and Hermione followed him inside.

            The room was much as Harry remembered it. There were piles upon piles of books in the corner by a highly polished wooden desk. On the shelves were about twenty little glass boxes that were so foggy inside that it was impossible to determine what was in them. But most of the room was completely occupied by large boxes filled with Lupin's possessions.

            "Sorry 'bout that..." Lupin said distractedly as he cleared a space in front of his desk, kicking boxes out of the way with his feet. He magiced three chairs out of thin air and set them down. Harry, Ron and Hermione each sat in one while Lupin stepped over an obstacle course of boxes to get to his chair.

            "You seem to have a lot more stuff than I remember..." Harry said staring about the room as Lupin settled himself in an expensive-looking leather chair. 

            "I got most of this from Dumbledore. You see when he went to the Ministry to convince them to give me the job, Dumbledore gave me some money to buy books and clothes and such. Mind you, I didn't want to take it, but he insisted I needed new robes." Lupin said with a slight smile, smoothing out his exquisite robes.

            "So Professor Dumbledore really convinced Fudge to give you the job?"

            "Well, Dumbledore has sort of been given free reign again over the school since he proved Fudge wrong about Voldemort. He really didn't really convince him, he told him. Fudge isn't too happy, but he won't dare speak up against Dumbledore," Lupin said smugly, as Harry and Ron beamed.

            "Anyway," Lupin continued, "the reason I wanted to talk to you three is because we need to continue your training. Professor McGonagall has scheduled your first Animagus lesson this Friday after dinner. Professor Dumbledore has asked to see you Saturday night, Harry, for your Occlumency lessons." Harry shifted uncomfortably in his seat, remembering his last Occlumency lesson with Professor Snape.

            "I will be teaching you all in class, of course, but we should have some extra training as you three are farther along then the rest of the students; maybe next Wednesday..." 

            "Professor..." Hermione interrupted," Um, I don't know if you knew but, um, last year we started a club for Defense Against the Dark Arts. Harry taught it..."

            "Yes I know. Sirius told me and I think it's a wonderful idea to continue it. I was going to suggest we make it a formal club for those who wish to join and I co-teach along with Harry... unless you wish to keep it secret."

            Harry looked uncertainly at Ron and Hermione. He very much indeed wanted Lupin to co-teach with him, for Harry remembered that at their last D.A. meeting he worried he had nothing else to teach them. But one of the main appeals of the D.A. was that it was a secret and he wasn't sure he wanted it open to the entire school so anyone could join, even Slytherins...

            "I wanna keep it secret." Ron spoke up, reading Harry's thoughts.

            "Me too," Harry said, "but I want you to co-teach too..."

            "I agree," Hermione nodded.

            "I'd be happy to teach. But what I think you should do, because you lost several 7th year members, is ask the remaining members from each house whether they know some people in their houses who they believe worthy to join. Let's say fourth year and up."

            "I think that's a wonderful idea!" Hermione said excitedly and Harry and Ron nodded. 

            "Alright then it's settled. Now go on, you've got study hall and I'll see you three in class in an hour or so..."

            "All three of us?" Ron said incredulously, his eyes wide. "You mean Hermione has your class to? 

            "Well, yes..." Lupin said bemused.

            Harry turned to look at Hermione; she was smiling guiltily. 

            "Hermione that's wonderful!" Harry said with delight, pulling her into a tight hug. "We have all our classes together!" 

            Harry wished the hug had lasted longer, but Hermione pulled away and sighed.

            "Well I guess you know what career I'm doing..." she said smiling.

            "What other careers have all the classes we do? Unless... unless..." Harry barely dared to believe it. "Are you an Auror?" he said in an almost whisper, holding on to both of her shoulders, forgetting that he was in Lupin's office with Ron and his Dark Arts Professor watching. 

            Hermione laughed. "No I'm not an Auror!" Harry smile vanished instantly. "But one day I hope to be..." 

            Harry realized what she was saying and released her with relief. He looked over at Ron and Lupin to share his excitement and saw Lupin smiling with one eyebrow slightly raised. He quickly lowered it when he saw Harry looking at him. Ron however had his hands in his pockets with his lips slightly pursed.

            "That's great, Hermione!" Ron said finally with a feel of genuine happiness. "My two best friends Aurors..." he said shaking his head, and putting an arm over each of their shoulders. "Remind me to never piss you two off again." 

            Harry and Hermione laughed and said goodbye to their Professor and headed down the hallway to the library.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

            The week went by so imperceptibly that it seemed that in no time at all Harry, Ron, and Hermione were sitting in a side chamber from the Great Hall after dinner for their first Animagus lesson.

            The room was filled with moving pictures of heroic wizards and witches, banishing dark creatures and wizards all in a silent battle. Harry watched one picture of a witch with flowing russet hair wave her wand at a huge three headed snake with fiery red eyes. But Harry's mind was suddenly cleared when Professor McGonagall strode inside, slamming the door behind her. 

            "Alright let's get to work! We have a lot to do," she said distractedly, setting down a large book on an ornate cherry table decorated with fairies and elves.

            She stood in front of them, "One of the hardest forms of magic ever created is that of transforming into an animal. It can take months or years to get it right, depending on the person's aptitude and instruction. It's no wonder it took your father and godfather years to master it, Potter. They learned from books; they never had proper instruction."

            Harry was quite taken aback by her frank mentioning of his father and godfather. She was unlike most people who seemed to whisper when saying Sirius' name. 

            "Anyway, I hope I won't have to give up much of my time training you three, but I will train you until you have all mastered," she went on with her lips pressed together in a hard line.

            Harry was suddenly struck by the thought that the rule-following, strict Professor McGonagall may not have wanted to instruct three future, and illegal, Animagi. "Now the most important aspect which determines whether a witch or wizard can excel at being an Animagus is the animal she or he chooses..."

            Ron looked over at Harry. Harry could make out in the firelight that his eyebrows were raised, and Harry knew exactly what he was thinking. He hadn't given much thought for what animal to be either.

            "Like a wand, the animal chooses the wizard. The animal that speaks to you the most, whether it is a worm or a dragon, is the one you must transform into.  For now, I want you three to think of the animals which you have the most interest in and..."

            She walked back to the table and heaved up what Harry had previously thought as just one huge book. There were actually three books and as Professor McGonagall dropped one on each of their laps Harry read the title through the dust that had sprung up when it had been dropped: _Advanced Self-Transfiguration and the Art of the Animagi._

            "This will have everything you need to know theoretically. I want all of you to read five chapters before our next meeting. I also want a roll and a half of parchment on what you read..."

            Ron let out a soft groan, "I _knew there was a catch," he said whispering and Harry smiled but was thinking that this wasn't going to be as easy as they all had thought. _

            For the next thirty minutes Professor McGonagall explained what would come with being an Animagus and transformed several times into her Animagus form of a cat. Harry had only seen her do it once before and now appreciated the beauty of it; how her muscles smoothly changed to that of a cat's, her form shrinking and growing stripped, tabby fur, her head contorting and a small cat's snout forming which grew several long silver hairs, and finally a long graceful tail. 

            Harry, Ron, and Hermione all left that night with Professor McGonagall once again reminding them of their homework and Harry thinking what animal in the world he would choose, or would choose him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

            Harry found himself dreading more and more, with each step he took towards the Headmaster's office, his impending Occlumency lesson. He still couldn't explain it, but after a summer of not seeing or hearing from Dumbledore he had no desire to see him now. He remembered how Dumbledore had cried when telling him that it was his fault Sirius was dead, how he had been a stupid old man, and how he should have told Harry about the Prophecy; the Prophecy that decided Harry's future; that condemned him to either his grave or to being a murderer. 

            Harry now stood in front of the great stone gargoyle in front of the office's entrance.

            "Canary Cream," Harry said dully to it, remembering the password Professor McGonagall had told him the previous night. He stepped forward onto the escalating spiral staircase until it stopped in front of the great oak door with a griffin for the knocker.

            Harry raised his arm and lifted the griffin three times as a loud boom echoed each time. 

            "Come in," came Professor Dumbledore's firm voice.

            Harry pushed the door open and his eyes fell upon the magnificent oval room with its walls lined with the portraits of former Hogwarts' headmasters snoozing pleasantly in their frames. At the far end of the room were as many books as there were stars in the sky and near Dumbledore's beautiful desk stood a golden perch, where a magnificent red and gold bird stood serenely. Fawkes stared down at Harry with his fiery crimson eyes.

            Dumbledore was standing in front of his desk; his arms at the side of his forest green robes embroidered with silver swirls and ancient looking symbols. He was not smiling.

            "Harry," he sounded almost tentative.

            "Professor," Harry replied so crisply that Harry was surprised with his own voice.

            Harry stared at Dumbledore for a moment, unsure of what was to happen next. But Harry had no sooner thought this, when Dumbledore closed the distance between them and pulled a stunned Harry into an embrace. Harry didn't know what was happening but Dumbledore quickly released him in what had only seemed a second and Harry suddenly felt calm and relaxed; every feeling of resentment and discomfort he felt for this man seemed pacified. 

            "Please sit down, Harry." Dumbledore said, moving aside and waving at two chairs placed in front of his desk. Harry dropped himself in the closest chair, completely confused as to why Dumbledore would hug him. It reminded him forcibly of when Aunt Petunia had kissed him on the cheek back at Privet Drive; it seemed so long ago.

            "Well you know why you are here, Harry." Dumbledore said in his regular, steady, and calming voice. He had sat himself in front of Harry in his intricate wooden chair with scarlet upholstery.  "The threat remains very real that Voldemort may again use the bond between you two for his own benefit. I am here to teach you how to block that, how to be able to lie to him without him knowing, and how to keep him out of your mind." Dumbledore said, his hands laced together, not taking his bright blue eyes off Harry's face. Harry found it hard to look at him, but tried to listen to what he was saying instead of the last time he had been in this office and had thrown a table at Dumbledore...

            "Professor Snape told me how far along you were last year and I was quite distressed to learn that you are so far behind." 

            Harry thought bitterly that he might have been better at it if Dumbledore had taught him himself. "So let us start at the beginning. It will be a new beginning for us both."

            Harry looked up into Dumbledore's eyes and nodded, forgetting the thoughts he had only a moment ago.

            Dumbledore stood and walked around the desk and motioned Harry to stand up. "As I understand it, one of the major things you had trouble with was clearing your mind of emotion. I want you to think about calming yourself. Think of things that have made you relaxed and carefree...

            Harry's mind immediately jumped to the night where Hermione had laid her head on his shoulder. He couldn't think of anything more wonderful or calming than that. 

            "Do you have something?" said Dumbledore, watching Harry closely.

            "Yes, yes." Harry said, remembering her chocolate eyes shimmering in the firelight.

            "Alright now I will say the spell and when you hear it, start thinking of those calming thoughts."

            Dumbledore raised his long wand and Harry was suddenly filled with fear. Dumbledore would be able to examine his worst and most terrifying memories if he did not block himself properly. But it was too late; Dumbledore was already saying the incantation. 

            "_Legilimens!_" 

            Harry was seven and Dudley was telling everyone in the school that Harry wet the bed; Harry was nine and Uncle Vernon was laughing as he gave Harry a large ugly, brown sweatshirt to wear on the first day of school; Harry was twelve and was looking down into Hermione's petrified face, her mouth slightly open in surprise...

            Hermione! Harry suddenly became aware of himself and what he was supposed to do, remembering Hermione with her head on his shoulder. The memories died away and Harry found himself on the floor, his face pressed against the red, Persian-style rug. Dumbledore was standing over him, his face full of concern as he extended a hand to help Harry up. 

            "Are you alright?" Dumbledore said pulling Harry to his feet. Harry noticed quite a few of the portraits were awake and staring adamantly down at him.  

            "Yes," Harry said out of breath. "Yes, I'm fine."

            "You need not worry about the spell; only think about your comforting thought. But I must say that must be a very comforting thought because it drove away your memories almost instantly." Dumbledore said smiling. Harry had the funny feeling that Dumbledore knew exactly what his comforting memory was. 

            "Let's try again shall we?" Dumbledore continued, walking across the room and turning to face him. "Do not think about the spell. Just think about your memory; one, two, three..._Legilimens!"  _

            Harry was thirteen and he and Hermione were surrounded by dementors while she mumbled feebly _Expecto...expecto...expec; Harry was fourteen and Voldemort was rising out of a cauldron; Harry was fifteen and Bellatrix Lestrange was dueling with Sirius; Sirius was falling through the veil...._

            "NO!" 

            Harry was once again lying on the soft rug but this time shaking while cold sweat trickled down his face. After months of trying to forget the image of Sirius falling through that veil, he had seen it all over again... It was like loosing his godfather for a second time.

            Dumbledore pulled him up again and placed a placating arm on his shoulder. Harry once again felt a sort of calm wash over him. Harry looked up at Dumbledore, feeling ashamed that he had let Dumbledore know that Sirius' death was still tormenting him. 

            "Do not feel ashamed." Dumbledore said releasing his shoulder. Harry eyebrows furrowed, wondering how Dumbledore had known he was feeling ashamed and then suddenly realized that Dumbledore was reading his thoughts right now. "Want to try one more time?"

            Harry nodded, wanting to do anything that would distract him from the image of his godfather.

            "Alright," Dumbledore said and he once again crossed the room and turned to face Harry. Harry took a deep breath and cleared his mind so only the image of Hermione and the firelight filled his brain. 

            Off at a distance he could hear Dumbledore say the spell but he did not feel its impact. He saw no horrible memories, only Hermione's eyes shining on and never blinking. Suddenly the image was wiped away and Harry was once again looking at Dumbledore's opulent office. This time he was still standing. 

            "Good! Good!" Dumbledore said smiling. "You threw it off completely and soon you'll be able to speak and move while still blocking any mind reading. Well that's enough for tonight, Harry. Come to me next week and we'll work on that." 

            Harry smiled and said goodbye to the headmaster with the image of Hermione's eyes still emblazoned in his mind. He had no idea why Hermione was so comforting to him; all he knew was she was able to rid him of his worst memories and put him in another world entirely. 

            Harry entered the common room to find it full of chattering students enjoying the weekend. Ron was sitting in a large armchair by the fire reading Harry's copy of _Quidditch Through the Ages. Hermione was sitting on the same couch that Harry had sat on day the day he had learned he was Quidditch Captain. She was sitting Indian-style in light blue pajama pants with __Advanced Self-Transfiguration and the Art of the Animagi on her lap. She looked up when Harry sat down next to her._

            "So how'd it go?" she asked as Ron marked his page and looked up at Harry too. 

            "It was good," said Harry smiling at her.

            "That's good," Ron said scooting the arm chair closer to Harry. "Dumbledore is a better teacher than Snape any day." 

            Harry barely heard him as he was looking at Hermione's eyes, feeling the comfort he had felt earlier that week return to him. Hermione smiled at him and put her head down and continued reading. 

            Ron started talking about when the Quidditch tryouts should take place and Harry was forced to contribute to the conversation, but he could help but stare at Hermione occasionally, wondering why he was suddenly so fascinated with Hermione's eyes as they moved, back and forth, across the pages of her book. He equally hoped that Hermione did not sense his eyes on her, as he was quite unsure of what her reaction would be to him staring, as he was as to why he was staring at her at all. 

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Thanks to everyone who has reviewed my fic. I really appreciate it. I also want to apologize for my irregular postings. I have been writing whenever I can and I hope to have the next chapter finished by sometime this week. Thanks again to everyone who's reviewed!!! ~Michelle AD


	9. Decisions, Decisions

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters mentioned in this fanfiction. Harry Potter and all characters from the Harry Potter Series are property of J.K. Rowling.

**New Beginnings**

**Chapter** **Nine: Decisions, Decisions**

            The following Saturday morning, Harry found himself standing on the green and manicured grass of the Quidditch field. Harry had decided that the Quidditch tryouts for the two new Beaters and Chasers would be held today. He felt apprehensive as walked to the middle of the field. He was unaware of any Gryffindors in his House that possessed any extraordinary Quidditch skill; he was quite afraid that no one would be up to Fred and George Weasley's standard of a Beater or Alicia and Angelina's brilliance as Chasers.

            He sat down on the slightly damp grass, as he reached into his school bag and took out a large folder full of rolls of parchment that contained various Quidditch plays former Captains had created. He had seen plays created by Angelina, Olivier Wood, and even his own father, all of which he thought were ingenious. 

            Harry had not yet had the inspiration to create any of his own but was confident that the hand-me-down plays would do for now.

            Just then he heard the sound of feet to his left and saw Katie Bell and Ron walking towards him, his only other teammates. 

            "Hey," Ron said throwing himself down next to Harry, "You should have ate some breakfast then I wouldn't have to listen to Hermione whine about how you need your strength..."

            Katie gracefully seated herself to Harry's left, giving a quiet "Hi."

            Ron started rifling through Harry's folder of Quidditch plays and then sighed deeply, looking up. "Time to separate the men from the boys."

            Harry looked up also and his eyes widened with surprise. There were thirty or so figures walking towards him on the pitch, all of them carrying a broom and wearing Quidditch pads over their regular clothing.

            Harry, Katie, and Ron all stood up as the crowd approached. Most of them looked quite nervous as their hands shook, tightly clutching the handles of their brooms. Harry recognized Ginny among the crowd looking quite composed. Harry also recognized quite a few 1st years from the Sorting Ceremony two weeks ago.

            They all looked up at Harry expectantly, all of them eerily quiet.        

            Harry cleared his throat. "Er... Thanks for all of you coming out this early and er... I'm going to give each of you equal time to play. If you're trying out for Chaser you will follow Ron to the left goal post," Harry said pointing up at a set of three golden hoops, "and if you're trying out for Beater follow me and Katie."

            They all stood silently for a moment and Harry wondered if they had understood him or if he was speaking Parseltongue again. Quite a few of them were staring at his forehead in awe.

            Ron cleared his throat. "Alright, all you Chasers follow me!" he said, turning towards one of the huge goalposts. A little more than half of the crowd followed Ron, including Ginny who winked at Harry as she passed. Harry saw Dean and Seamus remain standing with the rest of the potential Beaters. Harry and Katie turned to the right goalpost while the others followed. 

            "Okay. Here's what we're going to do." Katie said as Harry walked to a large crate which contained the Quidditch balls. "The Bludgers have been charmed so they will only go after me and Harry. We will send you up, one at a time, to defend us. You will have 2 minutes to make sure none of the Bludgers get close to hitting either me or Harry. After those two minutes are up you will descend and the next person will go. After everyone has tried out we will pick five we want to look at more closely and those five will fight for the two spots."

            Katie's words were met with apprehensive looks and worried faces and Harry's heart was filled with pity for them, remembering how nervous he was for his first Quidditch game.

            The first one to try out was a 3rd year Gryffindor named Alice McCabe. She mounted her Comet Two-Twenty with shaking hands. Katie and Alice rose to the goal posts, while Harry released the two heavy leather Bludgers, and then got on his Firebolt to join them. 

            The Bludgers immediately charged towards Katie and Harry while Alice zoomed between them hitting the balls with all her might. Too many times to count, Harry had to duck down on his broom to avoid being hit and he heard Katie give a grunt as all the wind was knocked out of her by a colliding Bludger.

            When her two minutes were up Alice lowered herself to the ground looking close to tears and leaving Harry feeling terrible for her. One by one, they came up to defend Katie and Harry from the Bludgers with no one being able to keep them at bay for long until it was Dean's turn. 

            Unlike the rest, Dean was not shaking but smiled at Harry as they rose together. He twirled the club in his hand effortlessly as he hit the Bludgers repeatedly. Not a single one ever got close to hitting Katie or Harry. He descended two minutes later wearing a broad grin identical to Katie's and Harry's.

            Seamus came up next looking more nervous than Dean had. Seamus performed decently but Harry had to duck several times to avoid a collision. 

            The last to try out was a 7th year by the name of Charlie Dobbs. He had vivid blonde hair and a rather stocky build and he, like Dean, was one of the few that did not tremble when it was their turn to tryout. Also like Dean, Charlie had no trouble keeping the Bludgers away from Katie and Harry and while Harry maneuvered up and down the field, giving Charlie a larger area to cover. Amid the chaos, Harry noticed Katie floating immobile in the air, staring dreamily at Charlie as he zoomed past her to prevent a Bludger from hitting Harry.

            Harry was already sure who would be the best Beaters for the team, but as Katie had promised, he picked five to look at more closely, which happened to be Dean, Charlie, Seamus, and two 4th year boys. The rest sulked off dejectedly towards the castle.

            At the other end of the field he saw Ron finishing up with the last of the Chasers as a small figure on a broom floated in front of Ron trying to throw the Quarffle threw one of the hoops. Five minutes later Ron joined them with his three top Chasers, one of which would be eliminated.

            "Alright!" Harry said. "Now we all are going to play together and see who fits in best with the team. Ron will put in two of you," Harry gestured towards the three Chasers, "and I will but you five in pairs. Each group will have five minutes to show us what you got and then give the others their turn. Everyone got that? Alright let's go!"

            Ron picked Ginny and a 5th year boy to go in first while Harry chose Dean and Seamus. All seven of them rose into the air until the remaining four people on the ground became nothing more than pinpricks. Dean and Seamus flew around the field stopping Bludger after Bludger from colliding into players, while Katie and the two other Chasers passed the Quaffle between themselves in effort to get it past Ron and into a goal hoop. Harry observed their progress since he had not released the Snitch he would have normally been searching for. Dean and Ginny seamed totally consumed by the game, as he watched Ginny duck under her boyfriend and then perform a complicated flying maneuver. 

            Harry looked toward the stands and saw a solitary figure holding a pair of scarlet red Omnioculars. He recognized the figure as Hermione. She caught his eye and waved. Harry waved back, completely loosing balance on his broom and dropping ten feet. He ascended back to his original position, his face bright red.

            Three minutes later Dean and Seamus were replaced with Charlie and a 4th year named Tom. Harry didn't particularly care for Tom's name. But fortunately, Tom was not that good and was saved from being hit by a Bludger several times by Charlie. 

            Six minutes later Harry lowered himself onto the ground ready to announce who would join the team. Hermione raced down from her seat and onto the field to hear the announcement also.  

            "Um, alright, I have come to a decision." Harry said as Ron and Katie stood next to him, facing the eight potential team mates. "For the Beaters we have picked Charlie Dobbs and Dean Thomas."

            Dean let out a triumphant "Yes!" grabbing Ginny by the waist and swinging her as Ron let out a low growl. Charlie smiled broadly and fell onto the grass staring up at the sky, relief etched upon his face. Katie laughed rather loudly.

            "And for the Chasers," Harry continued, "we have chosen Jamie Herrera and Ginny Weasley." 

            Jamie ,a small girl with tight brown curls, grinned broadly at Katie, who smiled back while Ginny lifted her head haughtily as though she was daring anyone to say she didn't deserve being on the team. 

            Ron stepped in. "Practices will be every Wednesday and Friday after classes and every Saturday morning at eleven. You'll get your uniforms the next practice ... any questions?"

            They remained silent. "Alright then, off you go. I'm sure the other Gryffindors will want to throw a party for the new team members!" Harry said. 

            Dean and Ginny were already walking back towards the castle hand in hand while Charlie followed slowly behind.  Jamie walked up to Katie, who put an arm on her shoulder.

            "This is my cousin," she explained to Harry, Ron, and Hermione. "She transferred not too long ago from Portugal."

            "_Wow!_" Hermione said under her breath.

            "She played Quidditch back at her old school and now we have and all-girl Chaser team again." Katie said smiling. "I'll see you all for Wednesday's practice!" Katie and Jamie walked across the now brightly lit grass speaking in slow English.

            "Hey Hermione, wanna have a ride with me on my broom before we go inside?" Ron asked quietly. 

            Hermione, who was still watching Katie and Jamie, turned her head quite quickly in surprise. 

            "Don't be silly, Ron. You know those things terrify me. I don't know how Harry can stand it..." her last words trailing off.

            Ron stared at her strangely.

            "C'mon Harry. You haven't had any breakfast."  Hermione said, pushing Harry gently toward the field's exit.

            It was that afternoon that Harry found himself flipping through the waxy pages of _Advanced Self-Transfiguration and the Art of the Animagi while scribbling in large letters across a long roll of parchment. Having been consumed by laziness and discussing Quidditch, Harry had completely forgotten the obligations his Animagus training required._

            All too suddenly it was dinner with Harry and Ron still scribbling messily, while Hermione clicked her tongue annoyingly. 

            Harry, Ron, and Hermione once again entered the opulent room aside from the Great Hall, with its cherry table and magnificent oil portraits. Professor McGonagall had not yet arrived so Harry seated himself in by in the middle of the room where three chairs stood facing the fireplace, above which stood a large painting of a lion. Hermione sat beside Harry while Ron plopped on Harry's other side, still scribbling hastily in barely legible writing. 

            A moment later, Professor McGonagall entered looking flustered and annoyed. 

            "Alright you three, papers please." Hermione jumped up from her chair first and gave Professor McGonagall her neatly written 2 foot long roll of parchment, half a foot longer than the minimum. 

            Harry followed her slowly, proofreading his paper as he walked to the great cherry table. Ron was still scribbling frantically, his rump hovering over the chair as though frozen between getting up and sitting down.

            Professor McGonagall took Harry's paper and then walked over to Ron, snatching up his paper, Ron's quill still elevated over where his parchment had once been.

            Hermione and Harry sat down while Professor McGonagall turned to face them.

            "All of now should be familiar of what is required to become and Animagus, so we will move on to the next important step. What animal have you chosen to become?"

            Harry looked uncertainly at Hermione. He had not thought of what animal to be since their last lesson. Hermione however looked at him and jerked her eyebrows towards Professor McGonagall's direction. 

            "Now if you have chosen the perfect animal for yourself, the transformation should be quite easy. If you choose an animal that is not perfectly suited for yourself, then it may take some time to find the right one, but for now tell me what animal you wish to be and we will test it to see if it is the right one."

            Harry racked his mind of all the animals he could recall. Oddly, all he could think of on the spot was a gopher and a snake. 

            "I have an animal in mind, Professor," said Hermione's voice, clearing Harry's mind. "I've been thinking about it ever since my first Care for Magical Creatures this year," she hesitated. "I think I want to try being a Pegasus..."

            She said this looking down at her intertwined hands, the heels of her feet pressed against her chair's legs. Harry remembered the magnificent white horse they had been studying the past few weeks and how it had a certain grace and mystery in its appearance and movement. He thought it was quite a suiting animal for Hermione to be. 

            Professor McGonagall looked at Hermione for a moment, studying her. She opened her lips with hesitation.       

            "That sounds like a lovely idea, Ms. Granger, though I'm sure you're aware that mythical creatures are quite a bit more difficult than a normal animal."

            "I'm aware of that." Hermione said quietly, looking up. 

            "Alright then, let's test it than, shall we?" the Professor said, motioning Hermione to stand up.

            Hermione stood, looking apprehensive as she fiddled with her hands behind her back, walking towards her Professor. 

            "Now in order to transform into an animal, you start with the trait you most closely identify with a creature. Tell me what captured you most about the Pegasus?"

            Hermione's answer came without hesitation. "The eyes, most definitely, they were so..." 

            Professor McGonagall nodded. "Alright Ms. Granger, if you have picked the appropriate animal, your eyes should change to that of a Pegasus'. Can you picture its eyes clearly?" 

            Hermione nodded. 

            "You two, come here." Professor McGonagall said. "I want you to see this too." 

            Harry and Ron approached Hermione so that Hermione was surrounded by the three of them. 

            "Alright Ms. Granger, picture the creature's eyes; think of nothing but how the look, how they make you feel, how they captivated you..." 

            Hermione looked towards the high arched ceiling. Her eyes looked oddly vacant, and as Harry looked at her, he realized that her eyes had lost the comfort and warmth that was so familiar to him. Her face seem to glow with some hidden light; an unearthly light, and then slowly, for it was almost undetectable, the chocolate color of Hermione's eyes gave away at the edges to the faintest of blues. Harry and Ron watched, mystified, as the blue spread over Hermione's irises, encompassing it all around. They were now a brilliant blue with silver blended around the edges. 

            To Harry they looked beautiful, but at the same time haunting, though he suspected that Hermione having a different set of eyes was the source of his uneasiness. 

            Hermione blinked suddenly and when her eyelids reopened the stunning blue had returned to his original deep brown.

            "Well Ms. Granger, that was spectacular for your first try, though I get the feeling you've practiced this before?"

            Hermione looked down sheepishly.

            "The point is that the transformation is doable," said Professor McGonagall. "I believe this a very suiting creature for you and as long as you practice the technique of holding the transformation, it should cause no problems for you."

            Harry smiled at Hermione, glad that one of them would be able to achieve this seemingly impossible task.

            "Now, you two," Professor McGonagall said turning sharply to face Harry and Ron. "I don't expect you to have chosen an animal as you seemed quite preoccupied by the assignment," she said with an extremly disapproving look. 

            "So your assignment well be to read the next two chapters of the book and write a foot long essay. In addition, you will choose an animal you wish to be.  Ms. Granger," she said turning to Hermione, "since you have already chosen a seemingly right animal to transform into I want you to spend as much time as you can learning and studying the Pegasus. Perhaps you could talk to Hagrid so you could spend a little extra time with the animal."

            Hermione looked quite excited at the idea. 

            "Alright that is all for today's lesson. I suggest that you two," Professor McGonagall said disdainfully, turning back to Harry and Ron, "start this assignment as soon as you get back to your dormitories, for it will be no great pleasure for me to read these _essays." She said gesturing to the three essays on the table._

            To Harry, it seemed the way she said the word "essay", was as though it barely qualified as one.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

            When the trio returned to the dormitory, Harry immediately began reading the next two chapters of_ Advanced Self-Transfiguration and the Art of the Animagi and the preceding five chapters he had skimmed through. Hermione plopped down in a heavy armchair, pulling out a large tome which was entitled, __Mystical Creatures and their Importance in History._

Ron however threw his book on the floor, mumbled something about needing a shower and walked out of the Common room.

            Hermione gave out a disapproving click of the tongue but continued reading. 

            The common room was somewhat full of students laughing and chatting with the new members of the Quidditch team. There were quite a lot of butterbeers and empty food wrappers littered on the floor as evidence to the party that had taken place. 

            Harry and Hermione kept reading until the no one was left in the common room except for a small first year boy with dark messy hair, who had fallen asleep on one of the tattered old couches. It was when Harry was writing the last word of his essay that Hermione closed her book, walked over to Harry, and sat down next to him. 

            "Almost done?" she said in a quiet whisper as to not wake the first year who was curled into a ball not too far away. 

            "Yeah," Harry said blowing dry the last word so that it no longer shined with the look of newly laid ink.

            They were quiet for a moment as Harry rolled up his parchment and Hermione stared into the fire.

            "So did you choose one yet?" Hermione said abruptly, turning to face him.

            "An animal? No, not yet."

            "Well..." Hermione said folding her legs under her and tucking a stray hair behind her ear, "What animal would you like to be?

            "I have no earthly idea." Harry said laughing quietly at how lost he was. "How did you know that a Pegasus was the right animal for you?"

            Hermione turned away from him and back to the fire. "I dunno really," she said. "I guess that when I tried picking another animal, I always came back to a Pegasus. Like it was calling me... you know?"

            "Oh," Harry said not fully understanding. 

            "IS there an animal you can't stop thinking about?" Hermione questioned, dropping her voice a little as the first year squirmed agitatedly. 

            "That's just it," he said fumbling with his essay. "I don't really think about animals unless we are in Care for Magical Creatures or when Hedwig he is bringing me mail or something..." 

            "Well look at who you are, Harry!" she said smiling, but exasperated. 

            "You mean Harry Potter?" Harry said frowning.

            "No. No I mean you're...brave, humble, protective and caring... among other things. Your characteristics will tell you what animal you should be..." Hermione said rather quickly, not looking at Harry.

            Harry looked at her a moment, surprised that she could list his attributes in a matter of seconds. He wasn't sure how this would help him determine what animal to be, but he didn't want to think about that right now as he and Hermione sat next to each other alone in the firelight, save the snoring first year.

            All too soon Hermione got up from the sofa with a tense look on her face.

            "What's wrong?" Harry asked getting up also.

            "Nothing," Hermione said distractedly, picking up_ Mystical Creatures and their Importance in History_.

            She smiled at him, no longer wearing the look she had worn just a moment ago. "We better get him to bed," she said gesturing towards the first year. 

            Hermione walked over to the overstuffed red velvet sofa and gently attempted to pick up the child. Harry watched, marveling at how tender she was. 

            "Here," Harry said walking over. He gave his parchment and books to Hermione and picked up the boy and held him between his arms.

            Hermione smiled gratefully and together they both ascended the boy's staircase until they reached a door on the third landing that proclaimed "1st years."

            They walked into the dormitory and Harry placed the boy gently in the only empty bed as his dorm mates slept on. Hermione closed the door quietly after Harry. 

            "Well good night, Harry." Hermione said whispering, handing Harry's books back to him. 

            She began descending the stairs, Harry wishing she would stay with him for some reason. 

            Hermione stopped in mid-step, as though she had read Harry's mind, and walked back to him.

            "I know you'll find the right animal. And as soon as you do, it'll be like you should have known it all along..." 

            Hermione placed a hand on Harry's upper arm in a good night gesture and Harry felt the familiar surge of something course through him, making his arm tingle wear her hand had been. 

            "Good night." Hermione said in an even lower whisper. 

            Harry watched her walk away, this time she did not turn back and Harry slowly ascended to the top of the tower to where the 6th year dormitories were located. Harry could still feel a sensation in his arm as he got into his bed, not bothering to undress, and falling into peaceful slumber.

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It's been so long since I've updated. I'm truly am sorry to everyone I kept waiting. I won't make stupid excuses to why I haven't written. But I hope all of you enjoyed this chapter. The best chapters to come are next. ~Michelle AD


	10. The Door in the Wall

  Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters mentioned in this fanfiction. Harry Potter and all characters from the Harry Potter Series are property of J.K. Rowling.

**New Beginnings**

**Chapter Ten: The Door in the Wall**

            The following Wednesday Harry was sitting on one of the large stone tables in the courtyard leading to the Quidditch field on a particularly nippy September day. He was already in his Quidditch robes of scarlet and gold along with his brown leather Quidditch pads. 

            Harry pulled his robes tighter around him. 

            "Hey," said a voice Harry recognized instantly. 

            "Hey, Hermione," Harry said, turning to see Hermione walking briskly towards him, hugging herself in an effort to minimize the cold.

            "Ron said he'd be down in a minute as soon as he finds all his pads." 

            "Right," Harry said looking toward the Quidditch field. Practice would start at 4:15 sharp and since Professor Lupin was mysteriously absent from their Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson, due to the coming full moon, Harry had extra time to prepare. 

            "What are you doing out here?" Harry questioned, shivering slightly as a gust of wind penetrated his robes. 

            "I came to watch the practice of course." Hermione said. "I'm starting to regret that..." she laughed as her teeth chattered slightly. 

            "Hermione, c'mon, go back inside. It's our first practice. Believe me; it won't be that good." 

            Hermione shook her head vigorously; her jaw clenched to stop her chattering teeth. 

            Harry scooted towards her in order to keep her warm. They sat there for a moment, their shoulders touching precariously.

            "Have you thought anymore about what animal to be?" Hermione questioned propping her feet up on the bench while her scarf whipped around her neck. 

            "Not really." Harry admitted reluctantly. "All I know is that I want it to fly..."

            Hermione rolled his eyes. "I guess you would since you seem to love flying so much." 

            Harry laughed. 

            "Well there are a lot of animals that fly..." She trailed off. "Harry... I have a bit of a problem."

            Harry faced her, concerned. "What?"

            Hermione smiled. "It's pretty silly actually. -- I'm starting to think I couldn't have picked a worse animal for me. I should have picked a rabbit or something...."

            "Why?" Harry said alarmed. "I think a Pegasus is a brilliant animal for you!"

            Hermione sighed deeply. "It flies," she said simply.

            Harry was confused. "So?"

            "So? So, I _hate flying!" Hermione said, a bit hysterically, putting her face in her numb hands. Harry tentatively put an arm on her back and patted her awkwardly. _

            "C'mon, Hermione; it's impossible for anyone to hate flying... It's too much fun!"

            Hermione's head flew back up, her bushy hair flying in all directions. Harry pulled his hand away so it would not get lashed by her locks.  

            "It's possible for me!" she said indignantly. "How could I pick a Pegasus? I'm absolutely petrified by flying!" 

            Harry smiled and cocked his head to one side so she would look at him. "You just said it Hermione! You're scared. That's easy to get over!" 

            "Well how am I supposed to do that? I don't even want to get near a broom, much less turning into a bloody flying horse!" 

            Harry couldn't help himself and laughed out loud, rocking forward with one hand upon his stomach. It didn't seem remotely cold anymore. Then, out no where, came a fist that punched him hard in the shoulder.

            "Ow!" Harry yelled, still laughing. 

            "It's not funny, Harry!" 

            Harry stopped laughing with effort and rubbed his bruised shoulder. "Hermione," he said smiling, "if you really want to be a Pegasus, I'll help you get over your fear..."

            Hermione gave him a skeptical look, as though she already knew what Harry was about to offer. "And how will you do that?"

            Harry held up his Firebolt. "I'll give you flying lessons..."

            Hermione stopped him. "Nah ah! No way! There is no way on earth that I'll get on that thing!" she said gesturing to Harry's broom. 

            "C'mon Hermione, if you want to be a Pegasus then you have to get over your fear!" he said exasperated. 

            "You'll do something awful like flip me upside down or..." 

            "C'mon, Hermione. I'd never do that. You're safe with me..." Harry said, forcing himself to wear a serious look. 

            Hermione let out a sound like a hissing cat, her eyes narrowed. "Fine," she said at last. "But you got to take it slow and I'm only doing this so I won't be afraid of flying. Don't expect me to come and play Quidditch with you and Ron anytime soon."

            Harry laughed. "That won't be a problem." Harry said, trying to imagine Ron or one of the Weasley brothers picking Hermione to be on their team in Quidditch. 

            "Hermione, Harry!" 

            Harry turned around to see Ron racing across the courtyard towards them, wearing his Quidditch uniform and carrying his Comet Two-Sixty, which was swinging madly over his shoulder. Harry and Hermione instantly separated. 

            "Hey, Ron," Harry said, getting up. "Ready?"

            "Yeah," he answered, out of breath. "What are you doing here, Hermione?" 

            "I came to watch the practice! Is that so hard to believe?" she said, throwing up her hands.

            Harry thought it was rather hard to believe and nodded his head vigorously behind Hermione's back. Ron laughed and together all three of them walked to the Quidditch field, Hermione baffled as to why her best friends were laughing so hard.

            Ten minutes later, as Harry, Hermione, and Ron were sorting out Quidditch uniforms from a large crate labeled "GRYFFINDOR", a distant bell rang across the lawn announcing the end of lessons.  It was not long after that when Katie arrived, already in her uniform, with Jamie following in her wake.

            The locker rooms began bustling with movement as Harry shuffled trough play after play in his Quidditch folder for the ones he wished to try on the field. Ron was unlocking the storage room door to take out the four Quidditch balls, while Katie helped Hermione find a robe that would fit Jamie's the petite figure.

            Charlie entered five minutes later and Katie immediately abandoned her cousin to help Charlie find a uniform. Ginny and Dean entered last; both of them sharing Dean's large leather jacket; Ginny with her arm in one sleeve and Dean's in he other. Ron let out his usual low growl, as had become custom every night when they were in the common room together. 

            Soon the team was standing over the lush grass that seemed abnormally green due to the fact that there was not a single cloud in the dull blue sky. Harry looked up into the stands where he could just make out Hermione figure, sitting at the very top with her legs crossed, slowly turning the pages of some unknown book while she clutched a scarf to her body so it would not be taken by the wind. 

            "Alright," Harry projected over the field to his teammates most of whom were shivering as a particularly strong wind bellowed through the stands. "I want to start by warming up," Harry said with a hint of irony. "Chasers follow Ron and start goal practice..." 

            Jamie, Katie, and Ginny followed Ron to one the left goal posts. Harry looked at Charlie and Dean, his Beaters. He had been afraid of this. He was sure Katie and Ron would be able to train Jamie and Ginny well, but as to the Beaters...

            Harry turned hesitantly towards them, unsure of what to say. "Well, er... I don't really have... well... any Beater experience..."

            "But we do." said a voice directly behind Harry.

            Harry jumped and spun around. "AH!" he screamed. 

            Harry had whirled around to face the answer to his prayers. Two people with unmistakable red hair were smiling down at him...

           "_Fred!_ _George!_ What are you doing here?" Harry said in disbelief as George clapped him on the back and Fred seized his hand, giving it a jovial shake. Harry heard pounding feet behind him and soon Ron and Ginny had joined them, Ginny hugging each of her brothers in turn, tightly around the middle. 

            "What are you two doing here?" Ginny inquired shrilly still holding on to Fred. 

            Fred and George grinned broadly as Katie and Jamie came to join them, while Charlie and Dean looked a little confused, knowing they were Fred and George Weasley (who didn't?) but unsure as to why they were here.

            "Fred. George! What brings you here?" Katie said smiling as George gave her a one-armed hug. 

            "Would you all just shut up?" Fred shouted over the wind and the distant clatter of Hermione running down the stands. "We're here to help out Harry with the team..."  

            Harry smiled gratefully.

            "And..." George finished for him, "'cause well...the store's been kinda boring ever since school started, so we thought we'd lend a helping hand and er... catch up on business opportunities," he said, balancing on the balls of his feet and looking about him with excitement. 

            Fred and George were both wearing the green dragon skin jackets Harry had seen them wear at King's Cross last summer, looking just wealthy as they did then. They all stood quietly for a moment before everyone laughed. 

            "Well c'mon," Fred said gesturing towards Dean and Charlie. "We've got work to do."

            Ten minutes later Harry called in his teammates to start the real practice. Fred and George had borrowed two old school brooms and had been hitting Bludgers left and right along with Charlie and Dean.

            Soon all the team was involved in a mock game. Katie, Jamie, and Ginny were swerving and swooping up and down, throwing the Quaffle in quick succession. It was amazing to watch. Ron was balancing on his broom watching the Chasers intently, ready to intercept the large red ball whenever it left a Chaser's finger. Dean and Charlie hovered around the Chasers and Ron to keep the Bludgers far out of reach for them. As Harry watched he was amazed at how good they all were, like a well oiled machine; they never went wrong...

            Harry watched as Katie, Ginny, and Jamie fly into a tight knot and then separate in all directions. It was impossible to tell who possessed the Quaffle until Jamie produced it from behind her and threw it into the far left hoop, completely undetected by Ron who had been following Katie. But Harry was not disappointed by Ron as he had been, constantly, last year. Ron saved half the goals that Katie, Jamie, and Ginny attempted, which was pretty good considering the Chasers were the best Harry had seen in a long time. 

            Harry looked around and saw Fred and George hovering on their brooms, away from the action, talking with Hermione in the stands. 

            An hour later Harry called the practice to halt as the sky around them grew steadily darker and shades of pink and orange reflected over the rolling clouds that had appeared from the West. 

            "Alright, that was a great first practice, everyone. We obviously need a little work in some areas," Harry said, looking at the grass, not wanting to cause anyone to think they were a problem. "So we'll meet again Friday after class; don't be late!" 

            They all left looking severely winded, with sweat soaking their uniforms, but also extremely satisfied. Soon Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Fred and George were the only ones left. 

            "That's was a great practice Harry!" Fred said as they walked across the darkening lawn.

            "Yeah it really was," George added. "I have a feeling Gryffindor is gonna win the Cup again this year. Those Chasers are amazing!"

            "Who knew Ginny was that good..." Hermione said fondly, coming in step next to Fred.

            Ron snorted. 

            Harry laughed and turned to Fred. "Are you leaving tonight?" 

            "Well, we could stay a while, Bill's watching the shop." 

            "We could catch up with old friends...sell a few things...wreck havoc on certain teachers..." George said with a sly grin.

            "George." Hermione said reprovingly.

            "Hey, hey, hey Hermione, you may be a prefect, but we are adult wizards and do not take orders from bossy little school girls!" 

            Everyone laughed including Hermione and together they climbed the sloping hill which led to the castle's entrance and into the Great Hall for dinner. 

            "Harry," Hermione said sliding her legs under the table and sitting down. "I think it's about time we tell everyone that the D.A. is going to start up again." 

            Harry took a sip from his goblet. "Right now?" 

            "Yes," she said scooping mashed potatoes on to her plate. 

            Harry looked around the Great Hall full of students eating dinner, though there was a large group of excited students from every house congregated at the end of the Gryffindor table where Fred and George were selling sweets.  

            He saw Ernie Macmillan biting through a steak two tables away. Farther on, he saw Cho chatting with a blonde hair boy who was two seats away from Michael Corner who was moving the peas on his plate with a fork, apathetically; all members of the D.A.

            "Go ahead Harry," Ron said sitting down at Harry's right. 

            "Alright," said Harry submissively getting up and walking toward the Hufflepuff table where Susan Bones was sitting awkwardly, crossed legged, on the wooden bench with a book on her lap. He was reminded of Hermione. 

            "Susan," Harry said quietly, sitting down next to her. 

            Susan pushed back her long mousy-brown hair and her eyes widened in surprise.

            "Harry?" Susan said rather loudly, closing her book. 

            Harry lowered his voice as half a dozen Hufflepuffs looked curiously in their direction. "Hey, can I talk to you...er."

            She got the hint and stood up and together they walked to the back of the Hall. 

            "Ok..." she said prompting him. 

            "Ok. Hermione, Ron, and I have talked to Professor Lupin about the D.A.," At this, Susan looked up at him attentively. "And he thinks we should start it back up again, oh, and he is going to help me teach everyone. So er... of course you can still be in it if you want to, but we need more members, you see, because of the 7th years that have left." Harry said quickly.

            Susan looked toward the Hufflepuff table where it seemed half of its occupants were staring keenly at them. 

            Harry spoke hurriedly. "So if you know any Hufflepuffs, 4th year and up, that you er... think would like to be in it, tell me or Hermione and then we can decide when to have our first meeting."

            Susan nodded. "So you want me to tell Ernie and Hannah too?"

            "Yeah, that'd be great." 

            "Alright," she said smiling. 

            They walked back to the Hufflepuff table where their audience was pretending to be eating. 

            "Alright, see you in class Harry." Susan said nonchalantly, sitting down. Harry nodded and began walking away when he heard a girl say "So Harry Potter's your new _boyfriend..."_

            Harry rolled his eyes and continued over to the Gryffindor table only to find Ron had taken his seat and had moved Harry's plate and goblet to the space next to him; he was now sitting closer to Hermione. 

            Bemused, Harry sat down in his new seat. 

            "So what'd she say?" Hermione said immediately. 

            "She said she'd tell Ernie and Hannah." Harry said, adjusting his plate. 

            "Good." Hermione said, scooting down the bench a little. 

            "I guess we should tell a Ravenclaw now, huh?" Ron said looking toward the table. "We could get Ginny to tell Michael Corner...or Harry can tell Luna."

            "C'mon Ron," Hermione said exasperated. "Don't you think it would look just a bit suspicious if Ginny just got up and talked to her ex? And Harry can't go because he already caused enough attention when he spoke to Susan. The same would happen if he talked to Luna." 

            "So whadda we do?" Ron said sharply.

            "I'll go tell Anthony Goldstein." Hermione said simply. 

            Harry and Ron looked at her. 

            "He's a _prefect!" Hermione said, rolling her eyes._

            Harry and Ron looked at her. 

            "That means I can use some prefect excuse to talk to him without it looking suspicious." Hermione said exasperatedly. 

            "Oh!" Harry and Ron said together. 

            Hermione sighed hugely, stood up and walked to the Ravenclaw table. Harry saw her interrupt Anthony's conversation by tapping him on the shoulder. After a few words Anthony got up and he and Hermione walked out of the Hall hurriedly. No one seemed to suspect anything odd. 

            And so it happened a week later that Harry, Hermione, and Ron climbed the many spiraling stone staircases to the seventh floor with Professor Lupin to the Room of Requirement. Hermione had programmed the golden Galleons she had created last year, which informed each D.A. member of the upcoming meeting, last night.

            It was seven o'clock and the sounds of students' rumbling had long ago died down from the distant Great Hall, six floors below them. The foursome reached the final step touching level ground as Hermione reached for her side, out of breath. 

            "So what exactly do we do?" Lupin said, coming to stand in front of a bare wall of dark stone.

            "Well, we walk past this wall three times," Hermione said, gesturing to it, "while we think about what we want from the room. Then the door should appear..."

            Lupin raised his eyebrows and sighed with a slight smile gracing his unshaven face. "Alright, let's go." 

            Hermione walked passed the wall first, her eyes tightly shut and her mouth moving to form silent words, crouching slightly after the long walk up the stairs. Harry followed closely.

            _....Let it be just like it was last year. We need a place to fight, to train._ _Let it have lots of books for Hermione and let no one but us know where it is. Let it just be like it was last year.... Harry thought. _

            Harry reopened his eyes after his third passing of the wall, which was no longer bare. He stopped abruptly and collided into Hermione; a moment later Ron ran into him, followed by an "umph" as Lupin rammed into Ron's gangly form.  

            Harry helped a flustered Hermione up off from the floor and the four of them turned to look at a highly polished wooden door set with a large brass handle below a large array of locks.  

            Harry walked towards it and touched the brass handle. Suddenly, the sounds of many clicking of locks and sliding of bolts from the other side, as though some unknown being was letting them in. The door creaked open slightly and Harry led them inside. 

            The room was almost exactly as he remembered it. There was a large cleared space in the middle of the gigantic room above which a chandelier full of candles shined over. The whole back wall was full of books whose gold lettering glittered in the candle light and to Harry's left were tables piled with Dark detectors and silk cushions. The only drastic change Harry could notice was a great scarlet banner above the book cases in which the mascots of three of the four houses were woven together to form a "D" and an "A"; below, in cursive gold lettering full of flourishes, were the words, "Dumbledore's Army". 

            "It's perfect!" Hermione squealed as she literally threw herself at the book cases and ran her fingers over the myriad of books. 

            Harry turned to look at Lupin who was staring up at the ceiling, his mouth frozen to form the word "wow". Ron was walking along the room picking up the various Dark detectors with not much interest, when a sound at the door made everyone turn. 

            Dean and Ginny had arrived, arm in arm, staring in amazement about them. 

            "Just like I remember it," Dean said fondly.

            Ron growled deeply. Dean released Ginny. 

            Not a moment later did Katie enter bringing Jamie along side her. They were followed quickly by Seamus, Neville, Parvati Patil, and Lavender Brown. The room became full of noise as the students greeted their professor and milled about the room. Padma Patil entered with Anthony Goldstein, Zacharias Smith, and Terry Boot laughing and chatting with two apprehensive looking students Harry guessed were going to be new members. Ernie Macmillan entered exuberantly with Susan, Hannah Abbot, and Justin Finch-Fletchley. They brought three shy looking 4th years that quickly joined the two Ravenclaws and began talking in low whispers. Charlie Dobbs entered and Katie disengaged herself from a conversation with Susan and went to greet him. Harry skimmed the room for Cho. She was not there and Harry sighed with relief as a strange sense of uneasiness left him, but then the door creaked open one last time and Cho entered, her black hair gleaming in the light with Michael Corner at her side.  

            The room became considerably quieter as Cho entered, looking uneasy but wearing a look of pride  so no one would notice. She had not brought Marietta, who had ratted out the D.A. last year to Umbridge almost causing the expulsion of everyone in this room. Lupin looked to Harry in confusion. 

            Hermione broke the silence. "C'mon everyone, grab a cushion and come sit in the middle," she said in her bossiest voice possible. Everyone moved toward the left wall and grabbed an either gold or crimson pillow and sat on the deep mahogany floor.

            "I'm glad everyone got the message about today's meeting...Er...as you know we are here to start the D.A. up again with the help of Professor Lupin who has generously accepted to help us..."

            Lupin smiled around at the students, all of whom smiled back enthusiastically. 

            Hermione continued. "Yes...and we are also here to elect a leader, which I have decided should be determined each year..." 

            Harry shook his head and smiled as a few angry outcries and sounds of disapproval came from the group of students. Many of them looked towards Harry as though they expected him to push Hermione aside and say it was obvious they still wanted him as their leader.

            "_And_..." Hermione said, raising her voice slightly, "to induct new members to Dumbledore's Army."

            Hermione pulled a long roll of parchment from her bag and walked to the right wall and pinned it on a large bulletin board below a smaller banner which emblazoned the Hogwarts crest. It was the list Harry remembered Hermione write a little less than a year ago in the Hog's Head. The ink looked newly written as it shined with the look of fresh ink. Harry's name was at the very top followed by Hermione's and Ron's but near the bottom the name of Marietta Edgecomb had been scribbled out vigorously. 

            Hermione walked back to the front of the room. Lupin was watching her with a looked of astonishment, hilarity, and an odd sense of pride. 

            "Now to elect a leader..." Hermione said her voice becoming steadier and then said, as though it had been rehearsed, "A leader must be someone you can trust; who you believe will always work for the end of evil and in support of good and honor. Raise your hand if you have a nomination."

            Susan raised her hand. "I nominate Harry." 

            Everyone laughed. 

            "I second that," Ron said jokingly. 

            "We have a nomination for Harry James Potter. Are there any others?" said Hermione. 

            No one raised their hand. 

            Hermione smiled slightly, or Harry could have just imagined it in the candle light. "Say 'aye' if you want Harry to contin..." 

            The booming sound of many "aye"s drowned out Hermione's voice. 

            "Done," Hermione said this time clearly smiling. "Alright now we need to induct the new members. Would all the new members please come to the front?"

            Harry watched as Charlie and Jamie stood up among the others and walked to the front with five younger students. Meanwhile, Hermione was pulling out yet another roll of parchment from her school bag. 

            The seven lined up next to Hermione, Charlie looking like a giant tree among six saplings. Harry wondered why he had not been in the D.A. last year. 

            "Before you become members you must know what you're getting into and what we stand for..." Hermione said, scanning the parchment quickly with her eyes. "If you believe in the promotion of good over evil and wish to perfect your skills to defeat it at all costs then please sign you name upon the list." She said gesturing to the list under the Hogwarts banner. 

            No one moved for a moment as though they hadn't understood what they were supposed to do until Charlie stepped determinedly towards the right wall and walked to the roll of parchment tacked on the board. Charlie signed his name with gusto and handed the quill to Jamie who signed her name, looking determined. The other five signed quickly, wanting to get out of the spotlight. 

            "Thank you Hermione," said Professor Lupin as the last fourth year signed her name. He rubbed his hands together for a moment. "From what I understand," he said glancing toward Harry, "you all have learned a great deal since the last year. A wide variety of curses, jinxes, and such, am I right?" 

            Everyone murmured their agreement. 

            "Well there isn't much I can teach you besides the occasional hex that may come in handy." He paused. "I think it's about time you all branch out into a new area...namely dueling. That is something I can teach you..." 

            Harry looked up at Lupin in interest, as was everyone else. It was true that Harry had taught the D.A. every jinx he knew but to actually put them into use in an actual duel was something they had not even ventured into. 

            "Dueling?" Ron said skeptically leaning back on his elbows. 

            "Dueling is an essential skill to learn when dealing with...less than friendly wizards. If you don't know how to duel, how to use certain spells at certain times, then you really don't have a chance." Lupin said rationally as every one mumbled in agreement and Hermione nodded her head silently. 

            "This sounds like the Dueling Club," Katie said smiling. 

            All of the older students laughed. 

            Lupin smiled. "So are you up for it?"

            There were many enthusiastic yes's as Harry looked about him. Dean was rubbing his hands while Susan leaned to whisper in Hannah Abbot's ear, and Ron looked at Harry nodding and smiling slightly. Harry smiled back. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I'm sorry this late-coming everyone. I know this isn't one of the most interesting chapters but believe me when I say that the next chapters are when things really get interesting....~Michelle AD


	11. Guardian Angels

  Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters mentioned in this fanfiction. Harry Potter and all characters from the Harry Potter Series are property of J.K. Rowling.

**New Beginnings**

**Chapter Eleven: Guardian Angels**

            For the next several weeks the D.A. meetings were scattered and few. Terry Boot demanded that his Quidditch team have ample time to practice, while Lupin needed time to prepare his regular school lessons while having certain days of the month off. Ron griped that he needed extra training as Keeper and Harry needed more practices with the team. Hermione seemed to be the only one to be giving herself wholly to the D.A.; she had not once said she required more study time. 

            But still, twice every week the members of the D.A. would feel a warmth in their pocket that could only mean that Harry had scheduled a meeting that night. They had been reviewing everything they had learned the previous year so the new comers could catch up. Charlie already new almost every curse Harry knew though his progress was slow at the Patronus Charm. Jamie too showed superior skill above the others as she took quickly to Disarming, the Reductor Curse, and the Impediment Jinx. Harry guessed that the magic school in Portugal was more demanding or strict than Hogwarts. 

            Neville was continually showing improvement at each meeting, further astounding Harry, and causing him to wonder how Neville would match up against Voldemort instead of himself. Harry would shake his head vigorously, cursing himself under his breath and hurry off to help some shy Hufflepuff who needed to hold her wand correctly. 

            Most of Harry's classes were growing steadily more strenuous.  Potions' was becoming more and more like the nightmare Harry knew from his five previous years in the dungeon class room. Harry kept his head down through the whole lesson, occasionally whispering questions under his breath to Susan on how many teaspoons of alligator bile he needed to add. She would whisper back the appropriate answer never raising her voice above the crackling and simmering of her cauldron. 

            Charms' was becoming increasingly more complicated as they learned a new Charm every lesson, each one harder than the next. Harry had had trouble mastering the Defense Charm and had stayed up until two o'clock in the morning with Hermione learning how make a feeble golden shield out of thin air that was supposed to enable the bearer to be protected from mortal injury and minor hexes and curses. 

            While those two classes seemed only to get harder, to Harry's surprise, Defense against the Dark Arts and Transfiguration were becoming easier and easier each lesson. Harry, never wanting to shame himself in an Animagus lesson again, was reading, rereading, and reading ahead in _Advanced Self-Transfiguration and the Art of the Animagi_.  This proved to be an asset as Professor McGonagall explained, in each lesson, that the 6th year curriculum was greatly centered around self-transfiguration. 

            Defense against the Dark Arts was aided by the D.A. meetings which sometimes included Lupin asking Harry, Hermione, and Ron to stay afterwards and practice Pain Deflection and other defensive skills, giving them even more additional training. Hagrid was finishing up their study of Pegasuses, much to Hermione distress, who had spent at least an hour and a half alone with the horse after each lesson and on weekdays. 

            Professor McGonagall was becoming more and more impatient with Harry and Ron who had not yet chosen their animal. Lessons mostly consisted of their professor turning into a cat and helping Hermione master her form. So far Hermione was only able to change her eyes into the mysterious blue color and change her long mane of auburn hair into a sleek mane of white which she could keep only for a few minutes. 

            Harry, who had forgotten all about his Metamorphmagus training due to Quidditch practices and D.A. meetings, was now taking to the mirror in the bathroom every night before bed to change his appearance. He had changed his eye color several times, contorted his nose to look like Snape's, and grew his hair as long as Dumbledore's, always changing it back to his original appearance before turning off the light and returning to his dormitory to lie down on his bed and let his thoughts consume him. 

            Always the same thoughts: of Sirius, wondering what he would think now that Harry was Quidditch Captain and the leader of D.A., wondering where exactly Sirius was and always playing with the notion that maybe, just maybe he wasn't dead. Harry would shake his head fiercely, and fall into fitful slumber full of screams, Sirius falling through the veil, Hermione's voice, the sound of a phoenix singing, and, as always, Voldemort's cackling laughter....

            It was after a particularly grueling Quidditch practice, two weeks before their first match that Harry and Ron raced to the side chamber of the Great Hall for their Animagus lesson. Harry opened the door to find Hermione already there holding _Advanced Self-Transfiguration and the Art of the Animagi to her bosom. Professor McGonagall was standing behind the great cherry table reading Hermione's long roll of parchment while the fire crackled merrily behind her. She looked up as Harry and Ron entered. _

            "Sorry we're late, Professor!" Harry said while Ron nodded, extremely winded and clutching his side. Harry pulled out his essay from the pages of _Advanced Self-Transfiguration and the Art of the Animagi_, handing it to the censorious professor. Ron produced a long wrinkled sheaf of parchment from his robes and smoothed it out quickly under McGonagall's stern eye. 

            "As I was saying to Miss Granger," McGonagall said placing Ron's essay atop Harry's. "She has progressed immensely in the past few week while neither of you have even chosen a transformation. I plan to have you each test an animal this lesson that I have chosen...But Miss Granger informs me she would like me to look at her progress?"

            Hermione nodded and stood up and walked to the middle of the room. Harry and Ron stood up as usual to watch as Hermione's eyes glazed over and turned the clear liquid blue color that chilled Harry while was the roots of her deep cinnamon tresses changed slowly to a brilliant white, making her look as though she were aging rapidly. Gradually, the color descended down her long mane and continued growing until it was past her waist, her hair now glossy and shimmering. 

            Harry had seen all of this so far and waited for the new development. Hermione was biting her lip and looked as though she were in pain. He had never seen her in pain before when transforming. Harry turned quickly to Professor McGonagall for some explanation. She merely held up her hand.

            "Wait,"

            Hermione's blue eyes were watering now, the edges glistening with tiny beads of blue. Hermione's mouth opened slowly as if she were gasping for breath and then something else grabbed Harry's attention. Emerging, slowly from her back were...Harry blinked several times to make sure.

            They were wings; two enormous and magnificent wings. 

            They seemed to burst from Hermione's shoulder blades in slow-motion, growing larger and larger until they were nearly as tall as Hermione. They were the exact replica of what Harry remembered to be Pegasus wings. Except now they framed Hermione's figure beautifully making her look like...Harry couldn't place it for a moment and then he realized...

            She was an angel.

            Harry stared, open-mouthed, as the wings seemed to fill the room with a splendid, heavenly light. The feathers flowed together in beautiful array, fanning out in all the right places, each one tipped in silver. Hermione's brilliant white hair and large sapphire eyes only added to the angelic impression. Had she been wearing a long white robe, or angel garb he remembered seeing in church when he was young, Harry would have been quite sure that he was a hallucinating. 

            Hermione was biting her lip again, now red and bleeding. And slowly her white hair shortened and brown hair grew from her scalp again. Her eyes turned back to their chocolate color, but the wings remained.

             _Now she looks more like a school girl with wings_, Harry thought, gazing at Hermione in her skirt and knee-high socks. She seemed to be trying to hold the form of the wings as long as she could. Then slowly and purposefully, as though it was inevitable it would happen, the wings fluttered, triggered by some unknown muscle and seemed to loose its brilliance. They became limp and transparent leaving only a blue outline of where they were once attached until that too faded away. 

            Harry turned to Ron, his mouth still hanging open. Even Professor McGonagall seemed to have trouble hiding her astonishment. 

            Harry turned back to Hermione who had walked over to the table, clutching her back. Harry rushed towards her, but McGonagall caught him hard in the chest. 

            Hermione slowly straightened and sighed immensely. She reached up and wiped her lip gingerly, looking only faintly surprised to see blood residing atop her finger.

            "Well, Miss Granger, that was stunning. I am very impressed-"

            "It hurt," Hermione said wearily. "It's never hurt before."

            McGonagall sighed, "You will find it more and more difficult to transform as you go on. It will get harder to hold what you have already accomplished, like your hair and eyes, while forming other parts. I suggest you slow down. Focus on what you know. I do not want you trying anymore new developments for now. "

            Hermione sighed reluctantly, but nodded. 

            McGonagall looked off to a far corner of the room where a towering grandfather clock stood.

            "I'm afraid Miss Granger has taken all of you time," she said looking back at Harry and Ron, "and I have a prior engagement. I hate to put this off any longer but your transformations will have to wait until next week. No homework for you Miss Granger, but I want an 18 inch essay from the two of you on the importance of Animagi throughout history..."

            Ron let out a cry of indignation, voicing what Harry was feeling. McGonagall looked at him imperiously and Ron shut up rather quickly.

            "That is all. You may go," she said turning to the great cherry table. 

            Ron bolted out of the room while Harry and Hermione followed more leisurely. They walked into the Great Hall together, Ron had already disappeared.

            "Good practice?" Hermione said giving a sidelong look at Harry's muddy robes and face. 

            Harry grunted, "Okay." 

            "Hey, listen Harry," Hermione said quickly as though she had been waiting to say this all day, "I think you should start my flying lessons soon. Now that I can make wings I'm gonna have to learn to fly..."

            She shuddered involuntarily and looked up at him. 

            Harry sighed inwardly and agreed, thinking Hermione needed all the help she could get. 

            They met down at the Quidditch field after dinner, Harry washed and wearing new robes. Hermione was already there, sitting on the grass with a book in her lap. Harry walked to the small locker situated off the Hufflepuff changing rooms. He performed the combination, selected a broom for Hermione to practice on, and walked to the middle of the pitch where Hermione now stood. 

            She watched him warily.

            "Here you go," Harry said handing her an old North Star that was known to be a steady, but slow broom. Harry was already getting on his broom when Hermione said-

            "What am I supposed to do?"

            Harry turned and looked at her with disbelieving surprise. "Get on the broom, Hermione." Harry said smiling a little. 

            "How?"

            Harry eyes widened a bit. "You mean you've been to a hundred Quidditch matches and you never noticed how to get on a broom?"

            Hermione suddenly looked more a little annoyed. "Harry, I'm not like you. I wouldn't pay attention to that sort of thing. To me Quidditch is the most--" She stopped suddenly and looked down.

            "Is the most what?"

            "Nothing," she said quickly. "Now tell me how to get on this thing."

            Harry sighed and stood next to her. "Let's just go back to first year for a sec'. Put your broom on the ground."

            She did.

            "Now say 'up!'" Harry directed.

            The both said 'up!' at the same time. Harry's Firebolt leaped of the ground and into Harry's hand, waiting, like a trained dog for him to seat himself. 

            Hermione's broom had merely rolled over pathetically. 

            Harry couldn't stop himself and smiled inwardly as he watched Hermione say "up!" repeatedly, each one a little more desperate than the last. She looked cute. 

            _Did I say cute? _Harry frowned as Hermione finally gave up and stomped the ground.

            "Hermione, calm down; you'll get it. Now c'mon, you have to say it with authority. A broom's not going to let you ride it if it thinks you won't be able to control it. Now try again"

            After five minutes Hermione was finally sitting atop her broom. Harry mounted his broom in front of her.

            "Now don't be scared. I'm right here. If you fall, you know I'll catch you."

            Hermione looked as though she were chewing on her tongue; her eyes were brighter than usual.

            Harry held the handle of her broom. "Now I want you to push off lightly from the ground. You won't go higher than five feet."

            Hermione breathed deeply and her shoes slowly left the ground as she rose higher. Harry let go of her broom and Hermione rose a few more feet. Harry would have been impressed had it not been that Hermione was slanting to one side. She couldn't keep her balance.

            She screamed and flipped upside down as the broom rose steadily higher. Her hair hung limply upside down and Hermione tried desperately to keep her skirt from flipping also, while her ankles locked around the broom tail. 

            Harry would have laughed at Hermione hanging upside on her broom, not even five feet off the ground, had it not been for the sheer look of terror on her face. He flew up to meet her where she promptly seized his neck.

            "Hermione your fine!" choked Harry, turning her over. Hermione still clung to him, reminding him firmly of when he had clung to her back at 12 Grimmuald Place last summer.

            Slowly they descended and Hermione practically flung herself from her broom upon reaching solid earth. 

            "It was a nice effort, Harry," she was saying quickly, "but it's just not going to work. It's just not. There's still time; maybe I can choose another animal..."

            "Whoa...' Harry said dropping the two brooms and running over to Hermione who was gathering up her book. "Hermione, that was just your first try! I thought it was rather good..."

            Hermione glared at him with an intensity he hadn't remembered since the Quidditch World Cup two years ago when he had been under the intoxicating influence of veela. 

            "Okay, it wasn't good at all," Harry said being miserably truthful. "But like I said, it was your first time. You're never going to be a Pegasus unless you get over this."

            He took hold of her slender shoulders and steered her toward the two discarded brooms. 

            "Now you can do this! I know it. We've done harder things than this, together," he said, thinking of her choosing which potion would lead Harry to Voldemort in their first year and her flying a hippogriff with him in their third year. 

            Hermione still looked fearful but nodded reluctantly, knowing it was true. 

            "I don't think you're ready to ride your own broom. We'll ride together for a while so you get a feel of what it's like."

            Hermione seemed to sigh visibly. "That would be great." 

            Harry mounted his broom and Hermione slowly slid herself behind him. She locked her ankles around Harry's and hooked her arms tightly about Harry's waist. 

            Harry thought it best to remain silent that Hermione was constricting his breathing. "Now, on three I'll kick off. Don't close your eyes or anything. Just...get used to being in the air."

            Hermione opened her eyes, feeling slightly guilty.

            "Three!" Harry was saying and suddenly and unexpectedly they lurched into the sky, rising quickly. The wind beat against Hermione's eyes and she held tighter to Harry. She could see flashes of green that she knew were the trees of the Forbidden Forest. She felt sick and dug her face into the course cotton of Harry's robes. 

            Harry slowly stopped their ascent until they hovered motionless. 

            "Open your eyes, Hermione!" Harry said in a strange voice that calmed Hermione somehow. She turned her head slowly and saw a sight that that made her forget that she was fifty feet above the little green field where she had seen Harry play Quidditch so many times. She loosened her grip.

            The sun was just beginning to fall below the trees, a precedent for a gorgeous sunset. The tall evergreens of the Forbidden Forest stood royally while a thin coil of smoke drifted in the distance; Hagrid's cabin. The blue and purple mountains encased the castle as though it was hugging a child while the lake glowed with a brilliance one could not expect to find being on the ground. The castle glistened, its turrets and towers reflecting the sun on its wide granite walls, and miniscule dots weaved along the emerald green grass chatting merrily to other small dots.  

            It was breathtaking. 

            "Oh, Harry..." she was at a loss to explain what she was seeing. This was a Hogwarts she never saw; one she would never have seen if not... "This is your Hogwarts, isn't it Harry?" she said, her voice not louder than a whisper. 

            Harry took hold of her hands. A chill ran threw Hermione though his hands weren't cold at all, but he simply unlocked her arms and swung one leg over the side of the broom. He was now facing her. 

            Harry had never been this close to Hermione. Her hair was fizzed and flew in every direction. Her eyes were bright with involuntary tears caused by the beating wind. Her hands were white, clutching the broom handle with all her might. Her cheeks were pink and wind-beaten making her freckles seem less conspicuous. He was so close he could smell the blood that had dried on her lips from earlier that morning. 

            "Harry..." Hermione said uncertainly, not taking her eyes off the green in his. 

            Harry looked at her for a moment. Hermione couldn't read his expression, something she had always been able to do. The intoxicating smell of grass, soap, and warm bread drifted off his robes; something she had never noticed before. She felt scared, frightened, exhilarated, confused, and wonderfully lost in his gaze. She couldn't explain it but something in his eyes made her fingers go numb, her heart hammer faster. What was it?

            It seemed like a long time before Harry looked away from her though she knew it had only been a moment. He retook hold of her hands, detaching their death-grip from the Firebolt's handle. Hermione watched in amazement as he lifted her hands higher.

            "Are you scared now?" Harry whispered softly in her ear, but Hermione was finding it hard to concentrate on anything but his hands. 

            Harry finally released her hands.

            "No, no." Hermione found herself saying.

            "Good," Harry said. Hermione may have imagined it, but thought she saw him smile. He swung his leg back over the broom, his back now to her.

            "Harry—what are you doing?" Harry heard Hermione say anxiously.

            Suddenly Harry pressed the nose of the broom vertically down. Hermione screamed. They were plummeting downward with enormous speed and Hermione wrapped her arms around Harry again all the while thinking she would never forgive him for surprising her like this. She could hear Harry laughing as a whirlwind of color and sound rushed past her. 

            And then, just as suddenly as it happened, they stopped three feet off the ground. Hermione caught her breath, Harry still laughing loudly. She punched him hard in the back and jumped the remaining three feet off the broom. She was aware that her hair was now a giant ball of static and stormed off to pick up her broom and book. Harry landed beside her. 

            "You said you wouldn't do anything like that!" Hermione raged. 

            "_You_ said you weren't scared!" Harry said failing miserably to hide his laughter. 

            Hermione tried her best to look angry but found herself smiling anyway. _How does he always do that to me?_ Hermione hit him hard in the arm, his eyes lighting up with mischief. He grabbed her by the forearms and held her still. 

            "I think that was a good lesson," he said absently. He released her gently, picked up his broom and began walking to the field's exit, Hermione following in his wake.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

            The next two weeks were filled with classes, D.A. meetings, and flying lessons. Harry and Hermione met every Saturday. Harry had so far gotten her to fly ten feet high on her own broom. She was still incredibly shaky and tended to question her confidence way to much; thinking of flying as something she could master if she read enough books about it. 

            It was also the Saturday of their first Quidditch match against Slytherin. Harry had not gotten much sleep partly due to nerves that he guessed had to deal with his first match as captain, and partly due to his nightmares becoming steadily worse. His scar now always ached with a dull pain like having a constant headache. He had not yet told Hermione or Ron, wishing not to worry them about something that could not be helped. 

            His breakfast consisted of forcing his teammates to eat while Hermione tried to get him to sit down and eat himself. Members of the D.A. came to the Gryffindor table to wish him luck but Harry barely heard them, his head spinning with Quidditch plays, divisionary tactics, and formations. Once Harry decided that eating was a lost cause, he herded his team to the locker rooms to change. Hermione wished them luck, giving each one of them a hug. Ron looked as though he expected something else. 

            Harry had always been used to having someone calm his nerves before a game, someone like Alicia or Oliver, but the realization that he was now the most experienced, though, not the oldest member of the team, was starting to sink in. Ron looked relatively nervous, perhaps because he had only one successful game last year. Katie looked composed though to nervous to talk as she strapped on her Quidditch pads. Charlie remained quiet, as he usually did, though he looked much paler than usual. Ginny and Dean had their arms around each other; Dean whispering words that seemed to calm Ginny. Surprising, Jamie looked the most serene out of any of them. Her large brown eyes were wide with polite awareness looking as though she was listening to a mildly interesting lecture in a class. Harry had been scratching Quidditch plays on to the large blackboard for the past five minutes when a bell rang in the distance, meaning he had five minutes. 

            His team gathered around him and Harry gave what he hoped passed for a pep talk. 

            Five minutes later they were on the field welcomed by the roar of three-quarters of the crowd. He squinted up into the crowd where he could see Hagrid's bulky form and right next to him, Hermione holding red omniculars to her face and cheering excitedly. They walked to the center of the field where the Slytherin team stood waiting, looking just as large and imposing they had been the previous year. 

            The crowd grew louder as Madame Hooch walked to the center of the field carrying the large crate of Quidditch balls. Setting it down she shouted over the crowd, "Captains shake hands!" 

            Harry faced the Slytherin team. Malfoy stepped forward. Harry stared for a moment at Malfoy wearing his normal sneer. 

            "Captains shake hands!" Madame Hooch yelled again. Harry was aware that the crowd had grown softer, watching the exchange down on the field. 

            Harry stuck out his hand first, then Draco. They touched fingers and turned away from each other, Draco giving him a cold sneer. Madame Hooch gave him a severe look, but she knew that was the best she was going to get. 

            "Mount your brooms!" 

            The crowd grew louder. 

            She opened the crate and released the Bludgers and Snitch. Harry saw it dart away towards the Slytherin goalposts. Madame Hooch tossed the Quaffle into the air and the game began. 

            Over the loud speaker came the voice of the newly appointed commentator, replacing Lee Jordan who graduated last year. He was an easily excitable Hufflepuff by the name of Brian something—Harry couldn't quite remember. He spoke, now, over the microphone in fast commentary. 

            "New Chaser, Jamie Herrera, takes the Quaffle, Slytherin Chaser, Donahue, on her tail. She passes to Katie Bell, she fakes, she dives and passes to Ginny Weasley, sister of Keeper Ron Weasley! She's streaking toward the goalposts, she aims, she drops the Quaffle...But no! The Quaffle is caught by Bell, Montague on her tail. She can't shake him! –ouch—Bells gets plowed by Montague. Montague takes Quaffle, he's flying down the field—but wait! Ginny Weasley hit the Quaffle out of his hands. Herrera catches it, passes to Bell and Bell is off. She's going, going, she shoots and—GOAL!

            Cheers like a rumble of thunder emitted from the crowd. Katie ran a quick victory lap, slapping Harry's gloved hand on the way and Harry cheered enthusiastically while Malfoy gave him a withering look. 

            Warrington now had the Quaffle and was speeding down to the opposite end of the field towards Ron. Ron looked a little green as he hovered in front of the hoop, watching Warrington's progress. 

            Then a horrible and familiar sound filled Harry's ears coming from the side of the field donned in green. 

            _No, no, no!_ Harry thought desperately. _Not again!_

                                    _Weasley cannot save a thing,_

_                                    He cannot block a single ring, _

_                                    That's why Slytherins all sing:_

_                                    Weasley is our King._

_                                    Weasley was born in a bin..._

            Harry looked over at Ron who, even at this distance, could tell he was a bright shade of plum though he kept his eyes locked on Warrington, though not really seeing him. 

                                    _He always lets the Quaffle in,_

_                                    Weasley will make sure we win..._

            Yells and shouts from the Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs, and Ravenclaws tried to drown out the Slytherin song but to no avail. Warrington was growing ever closer to Ron, making his housemates sing only louder. 

            Warrington faked throwing through the left hoop but passed it to Donahue. It was too late. Ron went to the left and Donahue scored in the center hoop. The groan of the Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs, and Ravenclaws was overwhelmed by cheers from the Slytherins. Ron was now a bright shade of red. 

            "Damn it!" Harry yelled and dodged a Bludger. Harry flew over to Madame Hooch, signaling a time out. She blew her whistle furiously, it barely heard over the Slytherins who were once again singing. 

            "Harry Potter, Gryffindor Quidditch Captain, calls for a timeout." Brian shouted as the last of the Slytherin victory cheers quieted.

            Harry and his team flew to the ground. 

            "Harry I know what you're going to say!" Ron shouted over the crowd. "I know, I know! I won't let it get to me! Harry! Harry are you listening!"

            Harry wasn't listening at all but waving frantically to the stands where a large group of Gryffindors were situated. He caught Hermione's attention and mouthed "Come here!" Hermione gave him a quizzical look but turned and dashed away.

            "Harry, what are you doing?" Ginny said looking frustrated but Harry spoke over her. 

            "We only have five minutes. Keep playing how you're playing, we're doing great!"

            They all looked at him as though he was mental but just then Hermione bust threw a door leading to field looking worried.

            "What is it Harry! What's wrong?" she said looking between Ron and Harry. 

            "We don't have much time, Herm," he said casting a wary eye in the direction of Madame Hooch. "You know that spell you do all the time that makes you go deaf when you're trying to study when the common room is too loud?"

            She looked confused for a moment but then nodded that she understood. 

            "Do that to Ron, now!" Harry yelled as Madame Hooch looked impatiently over towards the huddle. 

            "What!" Ron shouted. "I'm letting you make me deaf! How is that going to help?"

            But Hermione had already pulled out her wand. "Because it distracts you entirely! It's only temporary Ron! Now shut up!"

            She waved her wand two times in wide arcs and shouted, "_Sordo-conos souno!_"

            A yellow beam of light hit Ron directly in the forehead and he jumped back. 

            Hermione grabbed his arm tightly. "Ron can you hear me?"

            Ron gave her a confused a look and then smiled broadly. "I can't hear you! Wicked!

            Hermione smiled looking satisfied. Harry grasped her upper arm tightly and yelled "thanks" as Madame Hooch's whistle sounded shrilly. Ron was smiling blissfully, not aware that the Slytherins were laughing and singing at the top of their voices. 

            Ginny walked up next to him. "You know, now we can insult him and he won't be able to do anything!" 

            Harry laughed and they mounted their brooms to continue the game. 

            Montague now had the Quaffle, flanked by his two teammates. Crabbe and Goyle were slamming Bludgers left and right recklessly, often hitting them at their own players while Charlie and Dean did their best to protect Harry and the rest of them. 

            Pyle, the new Slytherin chaser now held the Quaffle growing closer and closer to Ron. They Slytherins were singing even louder than they originally had but as Harry looked at Ron, he saw the look Ron only wore when he was concentrating fully on something. His eyes were narrowed, hands loose on his broom ready to intercept whatever Pyle threw his way, his jaw set, lips pursed. 

            Pyle moved towards the right hoop but then passed to Montague. Montague moved towards the left hoop and Ron followed. Montague passed to Pyle again; Pyle threw the Quaffle hard threw the center hoop. Ron flew to the center, just in time, and caught the Quaffle in one arm.

            The crowd got to their feet with gasps of surprise and then an ear-splitting cries and cheers, which Harry knew Ron wouldn't be able to hear. Ron was smiling ear to ear as he threw the Quaffle to his sister. The Slytherins had on disbelieving and angry looks sketched on to their faces. Harry smiled wildly and turned ready to find Malfoy ready to give him rancorous look, but Malfoy was on the other side of the field; _diving_. 

            Harry spun his Firebolt, violently, the other way. Malfoy was far ahead of him, his hand thrust in front of him following the tiny winged ball. Harry was vaguely aware that Brain was shouting another goal for Gryffindor, that Jamie was flaying a victory lap around the ring, and that three-fourths of the crowd were on their feet screaming. Harry laid himself flat against his broom, air rushing past his ears growing closer and closer to Malfoy. 

            The crowd was still on their feet but now looking at them, eerily silent. Harry and Draco were neck and neck when the Snitch changed direction. There was suddenly a whooshing sound as a Bludger, Harry guessed was hit by Dean, struck Malfoy hard in the chest.

            Harry barely knew what was happening except that Malfoy had grabbed Harry's robes as he was knocked off his broom. Harry and Malfoy seemed to fall in slow motion to the ground fifty feet below them as the sound of screaming filling Harry's ears; he tried to think but Malfoy was still clutching Harry's robes.

            Harry thought wildly of his Pain Deflection classes with Moody and suddenly realized what he needed to do. He had fallen off his broom before and knew how much it hurt, but willed himself to believe he wouldn't feel anything; as though the hard ground below was the soft mattress of his bed. Closing his eyes he thought hard until the screams and yells seemed to melt into a gentle hum.

            Harry waited for his body to hit the ground and snap in two, but he felt no impact. He opened eyes quickly, seeing Malfoy lying motionless beside him still holding his robes, the crowd looking down on them in horror, Hermione's eyes red and wide, his team flying to meet him, his Firebolt lying five feet away from him, and the Snitch, fifteen feet above his head. 

            The crowd gasped as Harry jumped to his feet, seized his Firebolt and flew up to meet the Snitch. It took him merely a second to capture it and for Harry to feel the small cold sphere in his hand. 

            For a moment there was silence, everyone staring at Harry as he held the Snitch in his hand and then slowly, like an engine revving up, the stadium filled with cheers, disbelieving yells, and applause. 

            Harry smiled as his team flew towards him, embracing him in hugs, back slaps, and kisses. The cheers of the crowd grew louder as they descended in a giant embracing huddle while Brian's magnified voice yelled, "GRYFFINDOR"S WIN! 170 TO10! GRYFFINDOR'S WIN!!"

            Harry walked out of the changing rooms after everyone else who had been followed by a crowd of singing and laughing spectators. It was much quieter now as Harry emerged onto the silent grounds, punctured only by the distant cry of a bird far off in the Forbidden Forest. 

            "Harry," said a voice behind Harry.

            Harry spun around a smiled. "Hey, Hermione,"

            "That was a great game you played. Let me guess; Pain Deflection?"

            Harry smiled, "Yea," and began walking towards the castle. 

            Hermione came into step beside him, her cheeks pink, and her hair windblown. "I should warn you, everyone thinks you are some kind of miracle, surviving a fall like that..."

            Harry laughed and thought of a wild image of the Creevey brothers worshiping him as some sort of Messiah in the Gryffindor common room. He looked at Hermione, who wasn't smiling. 

            "What?" he said confused.

            "I don't think this is good. No one is supposed to know about our training. It could get out, some Slytherin could tell their mother or father, they could tell Voldemort," she said sadly. 

            Harry was taken aback for a moment.

            "Well no one knows how I survived except for you, Ron, and the teachers. There's nothing to worry about. yet," Harry said, trying to calm himself more than Hermione. 

            Hermione still seemed unsure but changed the subject as they walked into the entrance hall which was littered with red and gold confetti. "I was thinking that you're doing something to help me out with the flying lessons, and I feel bad that I'm not doing anything for you."

            Harry smiled at her, but shook his head. "Hermione, you probably do more for me than anyone. I mean homework and-"

            "You haven't asked for my help in ages! You're getting too smart or something..." she said with a look of mock displeasure.

            But Harry was looking past her at a large banner posted on the doors leading to the Great Hall which showed a pictured of a witch and wizard dancing gracefully under the heading, "Hogwart's Yule Ball: December 18th. Be there!" 

            "Actually there is something you can help me with," Harry said gesturing towards the poster.

            Hermione turned, read it, and smiled. "You want me teach you to dance?" she said in an excited surprise. 

            Harry looked at her warm brown eyes, remembering how easy it was for him to pick them out of the crowd at the Quidditch match. He nodded, feeling suddenly embarrassed. "Yes, teach me how to dance."

            Hermione smiled broadly and together they walked up the stairs to the Gryffindor common room. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

What has it been, a month? I really am sorry for not updating for so long and I want you to know I haven't forgotten about my story. School is dictating most of my life at the moment and its hard finding free time and inspiration to write at the same time. I hate that I'm making excuses because I hate it when authors do that so I hope you like this chapter and don't worry. I have not forgotten this story. **Please read and review** and thank you to all my loyal readers who force me to find time to write. I will try and have my next chapter out soon after Thanksgiving when I will finally, finally, finally get a vacation!!!! Thank God! ~Michelle AD


	12. Blood Red

  Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters mentioned in this fanfiction. Harry Potter and all characters from the Harry Potter Series are property of J.K. Rowling.

**New Beginnings**

**Chapter Twelve: Blood Red**

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

            Out on the grounds the air seemed to fill with the excitement that always preceded Halloween. The ghost seemed to float more buoyantly about the castle while the teachers decorated their rooms and the Great Hall with jack-o-lanterns, bats, cobwebs, and spiders(consequently, this was Ron's least favorite holiday). The smell of pumpkin pie and candy corn wafted through the castle while out on the lawns the ground crunched with dead leaves under Harry's feet. 

            It was once again Saturday and Harry walked with Ron after Quidditch practice to their Animagus lesson, their cheeks reddened, lips chapped, and their hair windblown. McGonagall had cancelled their last meeting she said due to "unexpected business" and today would be the first day when Harry and Ron would actually undergo a transformation. Harry had to admit that with Quidditch practices, homework, and D.A. meetings he hadn't actually thought much about his Animagus form since that afternoon in September with Hermione. Limiting himself to flying animals, he had thought of a hippogriff, a phoenix, a hawk, even a beetle like Rita Skeeter, though he had thought of some non-flying animals like the portrait of the lion that hung above the fireplace in their Animagus classroom.  

            "Hold on Harry," Ron said stopping him just inside the entrance hall.

            "Yeah," 

            "McGonagall's gonna get mad us for not picking an animal yet and you haven't chosen one, have you?"

            Harry looked down admittedly.

            "Thought so," Ron nodded. "So why don't we pick some animal we know won't kill us if we try it and it'll satisfy the dictator in there." Ron said casting an annoyed look towards the Great Hall. 

            "Yeah, but I haven't even thought of an animal. I was hoping she'd pick one for me. You know how dangerous it is to pick the wrong animal for a transformation," Harry said lowering his voice. 

            Harry knew he wouldn't soon forget the consequences of choosing an incorrect animal for a transformation. _Advanced Self-Transfiguration and the Art of the Animagi had so conveniently illustrated one case where a man tried to morph into a basilisk and ended up cutting off his windpipe and suffocating to death._

            "So, just do something you know won't kill you...like a...stag. Your dad was stag and you're so much like him that it'll probably work for you," said Ron shrugging. 

            "A stag..," 

            Harry had never really thought about that possibility, though he realized with some guilt it was probably because it didn't fly. He had of course thought about his father and Sirius and what they chose for their Animagi form but actually becoming what his father's animal form had never crossed Harry's mind.

            "That could work," Harry said nodding slowly, "At least it sounds like I'm trying. What are you gonna do?"

            Ron hesitated. "I dunno. I'll decide inside,"

            Harry looked at him humorously and followed Ron down the hall. 

            When Ron and Harry walked into splendid room, Hermione was already there as usual avidly talking to McGonagall. 

            Professor McGonagall stopped when she saw them. Harry looked down at the watch Hermione had given him. They were five minutes late. 

            "I expect you have your papers, boys." McGonagall said domineeringly. She looked paler and weaker than Harry remembered and realized he had not seen her at meals in the Great Hall the past two weeks though she had never missed one of her classes. 

            Harry placed his essay atop the cherry table and went to sit down in one of the three chairs that were placed in front of it. 

            "Now," Professor McGonagall said now that Harry, Ron and Hermione were all seated, "Today we are going to have you two try your first transformation. You no doubt have had plenty of time to choose a proper animal. Who would like to go first?"

            Harry looked down onto his lap; he could feel McGonagall's and Hermione's eyes on him. 

            "Mr. Potter? Mr. Weasley?"

            "I'll go Professor," Harry heard Ron say. Harry sighed with relief.

            Ron got up and stood next to McGonagall. 

            "And what animal have you chosen?"

            Ron's jaw was set, his hazel alert. "A lion," Ron said with little hesitation. 

            Harry stared. He really hadn't pictured Ron as a lion; he obviously wasn't the only one since Hermione emitted a rather large cough. 

            "A lion, Mr. Weasley," Professor McGonagall said giving Ron a strained look, "Tell me; what makes you think that a lion is the right animal for you? What called you to this particular animal?"

            Ron looked down at his feet. Harry could see his brow furrowed; he was obviously thinking hard. "Well, it has always been an animal I've liked—it's strong and big—and I've just always liked it, Professor," he finished lamely. 

            "I see," McGonagall said and walked around to Ron's other side. "Are you aware that since our first meeting in September I said that you should not pick an animal you like rather one that calls to you? I'm afraid 'big and strong' do not qualify as a calling, Mr. Weasley."

            Ron bit his lip but Harry could tell he was embarrassed. 

            "Might I suggest an animal that I believe _will_ be suiting for you, Mr. Weasley?"

            Ron nodded unenthusiastically.

            "Considering your attributes Mr. Weasley I would like you to consider a canine transformation. Your characteristics such as loyalty, friendship, and...de—" 

            Ron let an indignant cry. "Hold on a second!" Ron said looking chagrined. "Let me get this straight. You think I should be a _dog_; like some bloody golden retriever!"

            Harry looked at Ron, his face flushed in the firelight. He understood why Ron was upset, a lion to a dog was not necessarily a flattering change, though a dog did seem a better fit then a lion for Ron's persona. Harry thought it best not to mention that. 

            "Not necessarily a golden retriever," McGonagall was saying, "There are many different species within the canine family from a timber wolf to a beagle; it's really up to you."

            Ron still looked rather annoyed with his arms crossed and lips pursed. Harry looked over at Hermione. Her lips too were pursed though not with anger, but trying to restrain a smile.  

            "Fine, whatever," Ron said dismissively. "Do you want me to try it right now or—"

            "Oh no, first your must research what is the best type of canine for you. Get to know the animal. You just can't randomly choose one. Just know that I am not confining you to a certain animal; I merely hope that this will guide you. That will be your assignment until next week. Now go sit down so Mr. Potter may have his turn."

             Ron sat; his arms still folded giving Harry and Hermione an aggravated look. Harry rose warily, now fearful that McGonagall would shoot down his possible-Animagus form like she had with Ron. 

            "Well, Mr. Potter, have you chosen an animal?" she said with not much anticipation in her voice. 

            "Er...yes, Professor." Harry looked over at Ron who nodded curtly. "I chose a stag."

            Professor McGonagall who had been straightening papers at the table looked up startled.

            "A stag, Mr. Potter?" she said not taking her eyes away from his face though her expression looked softer and more considerate than usual. She paused. "I had rather thought you would have chosen—no. A stag might work for you, Harry. What about a stag captured you that made you want to undergo it for a transformation?" 

            "Er...I really don't know. It's er...hard to explain." Harry lied, hoping he didn't sound like a complete idiot. 

            But quite to the contrary, Professor McGonagall was nodding her head. "Yes, I know what you mean Potter. Why don't you try it for us? If you can perform the transformation easily we will know that this is the right animal for you. 

            "Er... right." Harry stammered while McGonagall, Hermione, and Ron looked expectedly at him. "What am I supposed to do again Professor?"

            "Concentrate on what captured you the most, physically, about a stag and concentrate entirely on that. Then that feature should appear on your person. Can you do that?"

            Harry bit his lip nervously. Nothing about a stag captured him at all, except for maybe the antlers, but Harry guessed that was just because it was a deer. Besides, he wasn't fond of having a pair of giant antlers spring from his head. He decided to say something deep like Hermione had said. 

            "Its eyes, I suppose." Harry said.

            "Then concentrate on the animal's eyes Mr. Potter. How they make you feel, why they captivate you."

            Harry closed his eyes and thought hard, not really sure on how a stag's eyes looked. He was aware that Ron and Hermione were now standing next to him, waiting. And then, all at once, he felt an extreme pain emit from his chest that seemed to freeze his heart. It coursed down his arms and legs seizing his every muscle but it hurt most of all in his eyes. They seemed to burn with some unknown fire that encircled his pupils, destroying his vision. Harry felt himself hit the hard floor, while a distant scream reached his ears. He was sure he was dying, calling himself an idiot for not choosing the right animal, for listening to Ron, for not being more careful. He wanted it to end, wanted his eyes to stop burning, his muscles to stop aching, his heart to start beating again. 

            Then just as suddenly as it happened, the pain subsided fairly quickly. He felt a coolness around his eye lids and found he could open his eyes. He was sitting on the floor, his shirt sticking to his back with perspiration. Ron and Hermione were kneeled next to him with identical anxious expressions. McGonagall had her wand out looking stern. 

            Harry got to his feet tenderly, refusing Hermione's help. "I don't know what happened, Professor. I did just what you said—" 

            But she was looking at his eyes with detached concern and repulsion. Harry looked at Ron for some explanation, who wore a grimace now identical to McGonagall's. Harry reached up to his eyes and immediately knew what the coolness was. His fingers were shining with blood and Harry felt long streaks of blood running down his face from the corners of his eyes. He was crying blood. 

            Hermione took out her wand and muttered "_Auxilio__!" In her hand appeared a wet cloth that smelled faintly of rubbing alcohol. Harry gratefully took it and wiped around his eyes gingerly. He felt no cut or wound from which the blood came, as though his eyes had just started seeping blood._

            "Well, that obviously is not the right animal for you, Mr. Potter." Professor McGonagall said composing herself. Her lips were very thin upon her white face. 

            "Before Harry tried to transform you said you had thought he would pick another animal," Hermione said quietly, following Harry back to his chair where he was still wiping his eyes. "What animal did you think he should choose?"

            "A lion," McGonagall said, wiping dust off her long green robes. 

            Harry gave the professor a quizzical look and looked over at Ron.

            "A _lion?" Ron said disbelievingly, his mouth open. _

            "Yes, Mr. Weasley; a lion."

            Harry spoke up, "A lion's all right I guess, but isn't a bit—predictable, expected. Just 'cause I'm in Gryffindor doesn't mean it's the right—"

            "It's not just because you are a Gryffindor," Hermione directed at him. "I'm in Gryffindor and I'm certainly not a lion."

            "Yes, but a lion..." He didn't want to say what the big problem he had with a lion was. Hermione read his mind.

            "Oh, just because it doesn't fly you don't want it do you?" she said rather heatedly, taking Harry aback. "This really could be the right animal for you and you won't even _consider it because it doesn't fly!" _

            Harry composed himself and gave Hermione a cold look. "You're the one who said my characteristics would choose what animal I am supposed to be. I like flying. Quidditch is a big part of my life. It's common sense that the animal I choose should fly!" Harry said hotly. 

            "Then why'd you pick a stag, huh?" Hermione said just as angrily. 

            Harry glared at her but then looked away. She knew Harry hadn't given his transformation much thought and Harry found himself feeling unexpectedly guilty that he had decided upon a stag just five minutes before class. He had put his life in jeopardy, _and probably a whole lot of other people's lives in jeopardy if he died because of a stupid animal, Harry thought remembering the Prophecy. _

            "I think both of you are overlooking something." McGonagall said with what looked like a small smile forming on the corner of her mouth. "There is a lion that flies."

            Harry looked curiously at her, as did Hermione. Ron was muttering something about "_he gets to be a lion..."_

            "It is an ancient magical creature from the Middle East. It has the head, beak, and wings of an eagle but the body of a lion. Occasionally, the tail of a serpent...You seem to know what I am talking about, Miss Granger."

            Her moth was shaped in an "O." "That would be perfect..."

            But Harry was watching McGonagall's face. She looked relatively impassive, her blue eyes steady, but Harry got the feeling that she knew something he did not. 

            "I don't understand—" 

            "A griffin, Harry." Professor McGonagall said, not meeting his eyes. "That is what I believe you should be."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

            "You really shouldn't listen to Ron's stupid ideas," Hermione said crossly.

            "It was a good idea at the time. I know it was stupid what I did, but no harm done." Harry said, looking away as they entered the Great Hall which was full of students, most of whom had just woken up, taking advantage of their weekend. Ron was still with McGonagall, probably getting a lot of homework for his canine transformation and a lecture on the importance of picking the right animal, Harry guessed. 

            "No harm done? I can see it now: HARRY POTTER KILLED WHILE TRANSFORMING INTO DEER! WORLD IN CHAOS!" Hermione said caustically. 

            Harry glared at her. "You have no idea,"

            Hermione's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

            "Never mind," Harry said tartly. "Let's get some food, alright?"

            Hermione gave him a questioning look but followed him to the Gryffindor table. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

            Harry emerged from the Headmaster's office the following night into the crisp fall night. He had just spent the last two hours "forming two minds; one that functions normally and one that blocks mind penetration," Or at least that was what Dumbledore said Harry was doing. To Harry, it felt more like seeing and hearing everything through thick glass. He was supposed to carry on a conversation with Dumbledore, all the while blocking his mind breaking attempts. It wasn't easy but Dumbledore assured him it would get better. 

            Harry wondered if should have told Dumbledore about his dreams. They had become to take on a similar theme which always involved a glass ball shattering to the ground and as always cries and shouts of mingled voices. It was something Harry had never dreamed before. He had worried that Voldemort was once again controlling his dreams, but it didn't feel like it. Harry couldn't explain it but it didn't feel like it. 

            Now Harry walked down the long walkway, keen to get back to the Gryffindor common room and start his Potion's essay, knowing Hermione would hassle him about not starting it sooner. She had not spoken to him since dinner the previous night. Harry was starting to wonder how long it would be until Hermione considered him thoroughly punished. Perhaps a late Potion's essay would bring them back on speaking terms. 

            Harry passed a large window, vines and ancient symbols carved into its pane. It was then something caught Harry's eye. A lone carriage, pulled by skeletal-looking horses, was making its way up the winding road to Hogwarts. Harry paused. _Who would be using a carriage so late a night and when the next Hogsmeade trip is three weeks away?_ Harry turned away thinking it must be a teacher who went to Hogsmeade on an errand and was now returning. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

            Harry sat writing the last remaining sentences of his Potion's essay at the Gryffindor table the following morning. Hermione was speaking to him once again though the dialogue between them was rather strained. 

            "Cross out the part about bezoar immunities. It isn't really important," Hermione directed over her cereal, "You need to elaborate a bit more on the regulation of the potion rather than its effect. Do that and it's at least an E," 

            Harry scribbled out several sentences with his quill. It was then he heard a familiar laugh come from the entrance hall. Hermione heard it too.

            Harry looked up and saw Professor Lupin laughing heartily with Kingsley Shacklebolt, a Ministry Auror. He was dressed in long black robes, the Ministry emblem embellished on his chest. 

            "What's he doing here?" Ron said putting down his fork and wiping his hands on the tablecloth. 

            "I dunno," Harry said getting up as Lupin and Kingsley disappeared down a hallway. "Let's go find out." He was eager to find out why a Ministry Auror was at Hogwarts. The Daily had not reported much of anything about Voldemort or Death Eater activities beyond the occasional Azkaban escapee and Lupin always seemed too preoccupied to comment on the subject. 

            Harry, Hermione, Ron got up quickly, Hermione stuffing her books into her school bag as she went. 

            "Professor Lupin!" Harry called. The pair stopped and waited for the three of them to catch up. 

            "Harry," Lupin said smiling at him, "You know Kingsley Shacklebolt don't you? Ron, Hermione—I believe you met him last summer?"

            Harry nodded.

            "He's here to help us with our D.A. lesson today. He was quite the dueler back in his day." Lupin went on.

            Kingsley laughed deeply; the sound resonating inside his chest. It was a comforting voice. 

            "Wow," Ron said to Harry's left. "That's wicked. We're really starting dueling today Professor?"

            Hermione interrupted.

            "You came all the way to Hogwarts just to teach us about dueling," Hermione said inquiringly. Harry could she was trying her best not to sound rude. Harry found himself wondering the exact same thing. 

            Kingsley gave Lupin a sideways glance, "I'm here to speak with Dumbledore, actually, but Remus, here, asked me to stay a night and help with the meeting," he said calmly. 

            "Well, we really must be going. We'll see you three tonight," Lupin said pointedly. 

            With that they turned and continued walking down the dark hallway. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

            "This is exciting. I've been reviewing every jinx, charm, and defensive spell we've ever learned all week. I can't wait to show everyone," Hermione said brightly as Harry, Ron and Hermione climbed to the 7th floor of the castle soon after dinner that night. 

            "I don't know why you are so excited. It's not like a competition or anything. They're probably just going to teach us the technique or something." Harry said.

            "Oh, I hope not. This way we can figure out who's the best dueler in class," said Hermione.

            "And I suppose you think it's you?" Ron said amusedly. 

            "It could be, though I will probably be second after you, Harry. You are the only one with actual dueling experience."

            Harry grimaced, remembering how he obtained the experience.  

            "Oh, I dunno. I bet I could beat you, Hermione. I know just as many jinxes as you—"said Ron. 

            "Are you sure about that? Besides, you'd be too scared to raise your wand at me, Ronald Weasley." Hermione said smiling, pushing Ron against the staircase wall.  

            Harry gazed at the two of them. They had not fought, at least not in Harry's presence, for a good number of weeks. He hoped dueling wouldn't interfere with that. 

            They arrived on the 7th floor landing and entered through the intricately carved and polished door. When Harry, Ron and Hermione entered Lupin and Kingsley were already there along with Katie, Jamie, Dean, Ginny, Susan, and Ernie Macmillan. The red and gold cushions which usually lay upon the floor at the start of each meeting now lay stacked against the wall. The candlelight from the chandelier glowed brighter than Harry remembered, lighting every corner of the spacious room. 

            Ten minutes later everyone had arrived and silence fell as Lupin prepared to speak. This was a lesson Harry had waited weeks for. A nervous excitement settled over the D.A. members like smoke. 

            "I have a special guest for us this meeting," Lupin said to the silent room. "This is Kingsley Shacklebolt, a Ministry Auror. While he was in training he received full marks in Defense, Dueling, and Spell Response. Kingsley..."

            Kingsley, who had been leaning on the wall next to the bulletin board, stood up. The students looked to him expectedly. To those who didn't know him, he probably gave off an imposing impression—standing maybe six and a half feet high with a golden hoop hanging from his earlobe and wearing long black linen robes- the ministry crest on his chest. 

            His deep voice reverberated through the room—same warm voice that had calmed Harry on more than one occasion. "Hello," he said politely as everyone murmured hello back. "I was only going to be here at Hogwarts for one day, but Professor Lupin kindly invited me to stay a night longer to teach you all a bit of dueling. What is going to happen is I will call each of you in pairs. The two will duel; the one who wins will move onto the next round. Whoever wins may have a chance to try against me..." Kingsley finished, smiling. 

            Harry looked about the room. Most of the older students looked excited but nervous while most of the younger students looked absolutely terrified. 

            "Would you all form a ring around the room?" Lupin asked and everyone moved to form a human circle.

            Harry stood between Susan and Ron. Hermione, who was to the right of Ron, was holding her wand tightly and bouncing on the balls of her feet. 

            Kingsley called his first pair.

            "How about Miss Granger and..." Kingsley consulted his list, "Emily Greenstone."

            Hermione stepped forward immediately while Emily, the shy 4th year Hufflepuff who always held her wand incorrectly, looked at Hermione, her eyes instantly becoming shinier. Harry's felt sorry for her; possibly the least-skilled member of the D.A. was about to duel with possibly the best. Hermione seemed less than thrilled also. Hermione had always helped Emily, especially when she couldn't perform a Reductor Curse. It was Hermione who saved the entire west wall of the room from being destroyed by the poor girl's mishaps. 

            Hermione walked to the center of the ring followed slowly by Emily. 

            Hermione arranged herself in the dueling position, wand held straight out to the side, right foot back. Emily arranged herself less quickly—they had only learned the correct dueling positions the lesson before. 

            Lupin's voice came from somewhere outside the circle, "Bow."

            Hermione flicked her wand in front of her face and curtsied gracefully. So did Emily though she was shaking quite a bit.

            "Begin," said Lupin.

            Hermione and Emily circled each other for a while, Hermione looking as though she couldn't bring herself to throw a curse and Emily practically cowering in fear. The circle tightened around them, everyone intrigued. 

            "Begin," Lupin said once again.

            Hermione sighed and raised her wand, "_Rictusempra__!" she shouted._

            A jet of silver light sprang from Hermione's wand, catching Emily in stomach. She bent over shaking slightly and began laughing loudly, unable to catch her breath. Hermione had hit her with the Tickling Charm, which proved effective since Emily dropped her wand instantly, not putting much of a struggle. 

            Lupin entered the ring. "_Finite Incantatem!" he said releasing Emily from the spell. He pointed to Hermione saying, "Winner!"_

            Hermione bowed, as was customary, her wand held straight out to the side. She merged back into the circle to polite applause and cheers. 

            Kingsley called several more pairs, eliminating all but one 4th year. Justin Finch-Fletchley lost to Katie. Hannah Abbot lost to Ernie and Terry Boot lost to Charlie. Ron was victorious over Zacharias Smith, something he made sure to flaunt as the two had never got on well. Soon it was down to eight duelers; Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ernie Macmillan, Susan, Anthony Goldstein, Charlie, and Cho Chang. Susan defeated Anthony Goldstein and Charlie narrowly defeated Ernie. 

            Harry had still not gone by the time Ron barely beat Charlie. Hermione went against Susan and defeated her fairly easily with a Flowerface Jinx, a strange curse Harry had never seen before that caused marigolds to grow on Susan's face, and finally a Stunning Spell. 

            The spells and charms used were becoming more and more dangerous, Harry observed as Hermione finally shot red sparks a Susan making her fall to the ground.

            Finally, Harry heard Kingsley's deep voice call his name. "Your turn Harry...and let's see who hasn't gone yet..." He skimmed the list carefully. "Ah, Miss Chang."

            Harry caught his breath, almost everyone else did too. Everyone was now sitting in a ring due to exhaustion. They all looked up at Harry and Cho. 

           Kingsley looked around, confused. He couldn't have known that Harry and Cho had once been dating, if you could call it that. It was also common knowledge that they had also had a falling out. How that had got around school Harry didn't know, but he was quite used to rumors spreading about him. 

            Now Harry looked at Cho. She looked just as beautiful as when Harry first saw her. Her seventeen year-old body was distinct and well-formed from years of Quidditch practice; her short black hair shined stunningly in the candlelight. She stood up, not looking Harry in the eye. 

            Harry walked to the center of the ring to face the girl who had given him his first kiss. Cho and Harry had not spoken since last year and Harry began to assume they would avoid each other the rest of the school year until Cho graduated. Cho was still surrounded by a clod of chattering and giggling girls wherever she went but Harry found that he hardly cared anymore. 

            The room was deadly silent as Cho and Harry faced each other. Harry thought her face looked quite expressionless; her jaw was set but her eyes darted about the room. She would not look at him. 

            Harry focused, placing his right foot behind his left, his wand held tight in his right hand. 

            "Bow," said Lupin's voice from somewhere near Ernie's direction. 

            Harry inclined his head several inches. Harry saw Cho bow her head maybe two inches and Harry heard the signal to begin. Neither one moved for a moment. Harry didn't want to hurt her or maybe he did. He just couldn't find a reason. 

            _She insulted Hermione on two occasions_, Harry remembered. _Or at least she had been angry with her. _

Suddenly he heard Cho shout, "_Conhecamenti__!" and a beam of dark green light emanated from her wand._

            Everything seemed to move in slow motion. Harry saw the beam move towards his chest, saw himself raise his arm, his mouth speak the words, "_Scherma_ doratum!_" Harry didn't know exactly what he was doing but trusted his instincts. It all seemed natural to him; like whatever Cho threw at him he could counter. It was a good feeling, like he had been doing it for years. _

            Harry's spell caused a golden web to spring from his wand's tip. The web encircled around Harry like a globe; he saw Cho's curse hit and bounce away. 

            Harry flicked his wand and the shield disappeared immediately. He raised his wand again, waving it twice and shouted "_Expelliarmus__!" Sparkling red light shot from Harry's wand, striking Cho hard in the midriff. She flew backwards into Terry Boot and Anthony Goldstein who quickly caught her. Cho's wand lay at Harry's feet. Harry picked it up, hesitantly._

            Cho looked dazed for a moment but then detangled herself from Terry and Anthony looking furious. She snatched her wand out of Harry's hand and turned away.

            Harry shook his head while Lupin announced him as the winner. He took his seat again not meeting anyone's eye. He plopped down next to Hermione. She didn't look at him but she wore an odd expression… like she was suppressing a smile. 

            "Now we only have three duelers left," said Kingsley scratching Cho's name off his list while no one looked surprised that Harry, Ron, and Hermione were the last remaining duelers. "Now it is Ron and Her—" 

            Lupin cut him off hastily. "—Harry. Ron and Harry." 

            Kingsley looked at him strangely, as did Harry. Kingsley shrugged. "Alright, Harry and Ron come forward, please."

            Ron looked at Harry and shrugged too and Harry stood again. 

            Together they walked to the center of the room, red light pouring from the only window on the west wall, showering the floor in a blood-red glow. It was almost Sunset. 

            Ron put his right foot behind his left as Harry did likewise. 

            "Bow," said Lupin standing next to Kingsley. 

            Ron and Harry bowed, this time all the way to the waist.

            Harry felt a bubble of apprehension fill inside his chest. Harry knew he would probably beat Ron but Harry still felt the unmistakable discomfort of foreboding. 

            Harry rose and looked at Ron, the red light glimmered off his hair making it look like a scarlet banner of fire. He seemed to absorb the light. His eyes no longer seem hazel but red. His jaw was stiff, his eyes never leaving Harry's face. It was disconcerting. This was the face Ron always wore when he was determined, when solving a difficult problem, or when he was angry.  

            Harry heard Lupin say to begin and Harry stood still, waiting for Ron to make a move...which didn't take long at all. 

            Ron's arm flew upward while his lips shouted, _"Inconsciente!"_  

            A jet of yellow light escaped from the tip of his wand. 

            Harry thought quickly, _"Scherma doratum!"  Once again a golden web of light encircled Harry and the curse ricocheted off but turned Harry's cage a sickening yellow color. Harry could tell his shield was collapsing. _

            Harry flicked his wand upward and his spell disappeared just as Ron shot another spell at him. Harry leapt away, feeling stupid that he was on the defensive while Ron threw spells at him. He tried to catch Ron's eye, to tell him to take it down a notch, it was just a duel after all. But Ron seemed to be in another world entirely. 

            He was looking at Harry with pure determination and his eyes sparkled with lightning. 

            Harry cleared his mind and raised his arm, "_Disagio__!" _

            A beam of brilliant white light shot from Harry's wand and hit Ron in the fore head. Ron crumpled and fell to the ground. Harry's heart flipped over. Harry dropped his wand knowing that the duel was over, for him at least, and rushed over to Ron. 

            He was lying face down and no one stirred as Harry slowly and carefully turned him over; waves of guilt passing through Harry's body. Then Ron moved. 

            Harry's face went white with surprise as Ron brandished his wand at him. Harry barely heard what Ron's angry voice shouted but knew what hit him. 

            It was the Agony Curse. Harry head exploded with white hot pain while fire coursed through his veins. Harry couldn't believe Ron had used it on him, but this was no time to think about that. He remembered his Pain Deflection lesson back at Grimmuald Place. How Moody had hit him over and over with this particular curse. Harry concentrated and the pain slowly disappeared.

            Harry opened his eyes carefully staring up at the ceiling which was no longer red, but black. The sun had set. Harry stared about him and stood up. Everyone was looking at him, their eyes wide in astonishment. Harry searched the room until he found Ron. He was holding Harry's wand. 

            Harry felt a wave of rancor pass through him but it melted away quickly by the sorry look on Ron's face. His eyes were wide looking somewhat appalled with himself as her stared down at Harry. 

            Harry wondered for a moment what would have caused him to go over the edge like this. It was not in his character. His mind flashed back to 4th year when he walked by the lake with Hermione and she explained that Ron already had so many brothers to compete with at home. Harry sometimes needed reminding that Ron needed to be his own person; not Harry Potter's sidekick. He needed to stand out, but maybe he needed normalcy too. And normal was pretty hard to come by lately with all the adventures and ordeals Harry, Ron, and Hermione had been through over the years. Ron's last normal day was probably the day he met Harry.  Another wave of remorse passed through Harry. 

            Lupin walked into the circle and pointed to Ron as the winner, Ron barely seemed to hear him. He walked cautiously over to Harry and offered his hand. 

            Harry hesitated for a moment but then took his proffered hand. Ron whispered something that sounded like 'sorry' and Harry smiled.

            Harry could feel his neck heating up under the embarrassment of loosing but clapped Ron on the back and said, "Good duel."

            Harry returned to the circle as everyone in the room seemed to give a collective sigh of either relief or disappointment that they weren't going to see Ron and Harry have a go at each other. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

            Harry emerged from the Room of Requirement soon after nine that evening after piling the red and gold cushions in the corner and straightening the books on their mahogany shelves. He had been the last to leave besides Lupin who had said goodbye to Kingsley as he left for the Ministry. He had said he would like to return later to continue with their dueling lessons; something the entire class agreed wholeheartedly too. 

            Hermione had beat Ron quite easily after his and Ron's duel. She hit him with the Confundus Charm, a Jelly-Legs Jinx, and finally a stunning spell. Ron hadn't put up much a fight at all. It seemed to Harry that Ron was letting her win for reasons unclear to him. 

            So Hermione won, making her the best dueler in the D.A. though she was not happy about it when Lupin announced her as such. Harry knew Hermione liked to earn her way to the top and having Ron let her win probably came off as insult. 

            Harry had thought the whole thing was rather amusing. Hermione fought with amazing aggressiveness and poise. Her cheeks flushed red and her tawny curls swirled around her head as she threw and dodged curses. Her delicate eyebrows furrowed in concentration causing a cute wrinkle to appear on her brow. Ron, by contrast, was anything but poise. His style was clumsy and hesitant, not at all like it was when Harry had fought him. 

            Harry walked down slowly down the last flight of steps to the Gryffindor common room, not really wanting to enter it. Hermione was probably still rather upset at Ron which would mean for a very tense study session. 

            "Crookshanks," Harry said dully to the Fat Lady's portrait. It was a password Hermione had created for the next two months. She thought it was cute while almost everyone else thought it was pathetic, though they would never say that to her. 

            The Fat Lady swung forward and Harry crawled through the portrait hole. He did not see either Ron or Hermione. Hermione was probably up in her dorm room doing homework. As Harry thought this Hermione's voice seemed to enter his head, telling him he needed to start his Defense Against the Dark Arts essay. 

            Harry walked over to the fire where he usually laid his books and searched for a place to work. Dean, Seamus, and Neville were all sitting on pillows next to a table with chopped off legs in a corner at the far end of the room.

            Harry grabbed a large velvet pillow and joined them. 

            "Hey," said Seamus jovially, "Quite an interesting meeting today, huh?" 

            They all laughed lowering their voices a bit. Though there were quite a lot of Gryffindors in the D.A. there were some who were not and secrecy was something that was very important to them, or had been made important to them by Hermione's constant lecturing on the matter. 

            "I still can't believe what Ron did to you though," Dean said becoming more serious. 

            Harry shrugged. "It was no big deal. I've had worse." Harry said simply. 

            Seamus and Dean took this the wrong way and looked down at their homework. They all knew Harry's story of course but it was never brought up in conversation, unless by Harry. It was something all Gryffindors seemed to ignore. 

            Neville, however, was looking directly at him. "No big deal? That was the Agony Curse wasn't it? You know Lupin said that curse has been petitioned to be put on the Unforgivable Curses list." 

            Harry was about to say it hadn't hurt at all because of Pain Deflection, but rethought it. Hermione had told him never to use Pain Deflection again unless there was a ridiculously good reason. She seemed to think that if Harry survived anymore fatal encounters, Voldemort would surely swoop down from nowhere and kill him, knowing exactly what Harry was and was not capable of. It didn't seem to occur to Hermione that if Harry didn't use his Pain Deflection training there might _not be anything for Voldemort to swoop down and kill. _

            Harry couldn't help worrying though. He had now used Pain Deflection in two very open, very public occasions. Harry should have been lying in the Hospital Wing with a broken back along with Malfoy this very moment, but he wasn't. It was more than enough to make a lot of people wonder. 

            Dean was speaking now. "It did give us quite a show though, didn't it?" said giving Harry a wry smile. 

            "What do you mean?" Harry said confused.

            "Oh you know," Seamus said picking up his parchment carefully and blowing gently to dry the ink. "Seeing those to lovebirds having a go at each other; really quite amusing."

            Harry looked at him, genuinely and completely perplexed. "You mean Ron and Hermione?" They had better not have meant him and Ron.

            Neville, Seamus, and Dean gave him an incredulous look. They seemed to think he was quite mad. 

            Dean was first to speak. "Like you don't know—" he said smiling. But slowly that smile turned to look of sympathetic understanding. "Or maybe you don't..."

            "You don't know!" Seamus said loudly, as several heads turned in their direction. 

            "Shhh!" Neville said worriedly.  

            Harry was becoming more than a little frustrated. "Tell me what your on about, will you?" Harry said in a piercing whisper. 

            "Seamus, maybe he doesn't know. He does spend all his time with them." Dean said reasonably. 

            "Just tell _me!" _

            Dean lowered his head closer to the table. Harry, Seamus, and Neville followed suit. 

            "Well its kind of common knowledge around here that er..." Dean seemed to be grasping for the right words. "That is to say—"

            "That Ron and Hermione like each other." Seamus said looking annoyed. 

            "_What!_" Harry said, his eyes widening. 

            "Well, Ron for sure likes her," Dean said calmly. "I'm not sure about Hermione—"

            "No. Ron doesn't like her. He told me." Harry said, trying his best to keep his voice under control from rising several octaves. He wouldn't believe it; he couldn't. "He wouldn't lie to me..."

            Neville looked sorrowfully down at the table. "I think he must have, Harry. The way he acts and talks—around her. It's obvious."

            Harry jaw was clamped shut, barely aware that his tongue was bleeding. He needed to think. He needed to be alone. 

            Harry stood slowly, not wanting to make a scene. Dean, Seamus, and Neville looked worriedly up at him. "I'm going to bed. I'm a bit tired after the meeting and all...'Night." 

            Harry gathered his things and walked toward the boy's staircase. He turned back a moment. Dean and Seamus were in a fast whispered conversation while Neville cast him an anxious look. 

            Harry turned and climbed the spiral stair case to the top of the tower, hoping that the dormitory was empty.

            Harry willed himself to concentrate on stone steps below his feet, the sound of muffled chattering from the common room below and the crisp breeze that blew through the window which displayed a star-spangled night. 

            Harry found the dormitory gratefully empty, he placed his books in his trunk and changed into his pajamas and dressing gown. It was only 9:30, much earlier than anyone went to bed and Harry certainly did not feel sleepy.

            He finally let his thoughts wash over him. 

            _Ron liked Hermione even though he said he did not. If he did like her then he had lied to Harry or maybe this was a recent thing and he just hadn't told Harry. _That's what Harry wanted to believe anyway_. ....And all this time everyone knew that there was something between his two best friends and he, Harry who should have been the first to know, was the last._

            Harry felt anger well up inside of him which was just an overcoat to a strange feeling of despair. Harry willed himself to think clearly. What did all the Gryffindors and probably the rest of the school know? He was their best friend and if something was going on they'd tell him surely. 

            Harry thought back to a month ago when Hermione had rested her head on his shoulder. He tried to imagine that head on Ron's shoulder and a wave of unexplainable sadness washed over him like an ocean pulling in a piece drift wood. Harry also felt something he could explain. He had felt it a lot in his 4th year whenever he saw Cho and Cedric holding hands. Harry knew exactly what it was, but pushed it down. 

            _Why do I even care?_ Harry thought bitterly. 

            But Harry knew why he cared, but turned over on his four-poster bed and thought no more.

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Quite a bit later than right after Thanksgiving I know. I'm trying _so hard not to let this become a tradition of me always apologizing for my lateness. I've gotten one interesting reviewer that seemed quite angry about it actually...But fear not. I have one more week of school until Christmas break which I will promise will produce at least, _at least_ one new chapter. So what will happen next? What's happening with Hermione and Ron? What's so important about Halloween and can Harry learn to dance? *Cough*_

Things take a twist in this upcoming chapter so please **read and review!! The more you review, the more I write. Thank you so, so much to everyone who has reviewed already and I look forward to writing all Christmas. ~Michelle AD**


	13. Ignorance and Death

  Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters mentioned in this fanfiction. Harry Potter and all characters from the Harry Potter Series are property of J.K. Rowling.

**New Beginnings**

**Chapter Thirteen: Ignorance and Death**

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

            _"I sent you away for a year...A year!" hissed his cold voice. "And you come back with _nothing_!"_

_            Wormtail stared down at the threadbare rug. His knees were in quite a lot of pain. The rug did little to soften the jutting and uneven tiles of the stone floor. But he did not dare move. _

_            "I have given you far too many chances, Wormtail. Your task was simple. A _Muggle child_ could have done it—"_

_            Wormtail tried to steady his panting breath, "I did try, m-my Lord—," he stammered._

_            Harry eyes blazed with rage. "I do not need your excuses, you idiot! You know that I depend on that information! To be without it—"_

_            Harry paused. Wormtail was now wheezing slightly. Off in a corner, a large snake with a diamond-like head and deadly looking fangs slid into the light, and then faded into a shadow. _

_            "They say ignorance is bliss..." Harry hissed, his voice not louder than the cold fire in the grate to his left. "Ignorance is death."_

_            Wormtail felt sweat begin to collect on his back and slide down, giving him an involuntary chill. Puffs of icy breath hovered before his eyes. _

_            Harry turned and slowly encircled the pathetic servant at his feet. "It's too late now. Only Dumbledore will know—he undoubtedly has told the boy and he _must_ have told someone. We must concentrate on getting that information, won't we Wormtail?" _

_            Wormtail's hair stood on end at the sound of Harry's malevolent voice. "Y-yes my Lord—"_

_            Harry smiled. "Look at me Wormtail,"_

_            Wormtail raised his head as slowly as he possibly could without looking insolent.  No matter how often he looked, he was never prepared for what he saw. _

_            A cold white face that was almost translucent stared back at him. Blue veins spidered out from the corners of his white and lipless mouth and eyes...and, those eyes: cold and staring but blazing red, its pupils slit and snake-like. His skin was tight, stretching over a skull that encased a mind that had seen innocent people murdered and tortured. He glowed with a light of unmistakable iniquity that was like no other light. It could not warm you. It could not guide you. It simply shined with such strength and coldness that it was easy to forget oneself and fall into an equally cold despair. It was a despair no one could get out of—it simply consumed. _

_            Harry's question brought him to earth. "Have you ever been in love Wormtail?"_

_            "P-pardon, Master?"_

_            Harry stared at him with cold eyes and swished his black cloak impatiently.  _

            _Wormtail had intended to say no, he never had been but suddenly felt words being dragged out of him like a fish being hooked. They were words Wormtail knew he would never say to anyone, and yet here they were, spilling out of his own mouth. _

_            "I h-have my Lord, once—long ago."_

_            The pulling stopped and Wormtail felt quite normal again, or as normal as he could feel, kneeling on the floor, sweat dripping down his back and face, his kneecaps protesting under his weight. A wave of freezing air swept over him and in him. It was so cold. _

_            Harry wore a pondering look, apparently immune to such mortal feelings of temperature. "What would she say if she saw you now—kneeling down in front of me like a wet dog?_

_            The encompassing pulling sensation started again. "Sh-she would think me dirt." Wormtail replied steadily. "She would hate me."_

_            Harry's smile grew. "Well, there's a reason for that Wormtail." Harry raised his wand, thirteen inches long, its yew handle smooth and cool underneath his grasp. Wormtail braced himself. _"Cru—"

            _A knock rang through the small stone room. It emitted from an old and ancient looking door bearing the marks of too many centuries. Carved initials, drawings, and tally marks littered its surface beneath a barred window. _

_            Harry lowered his wand and Wormtail released his breath as quietly as he could. _

_            "Enter," Harry hissed irritably._

_            The door swung open with a loud creak and a pretty woman entered with long shining black hair. She would have been beautiful if her dark eyes weren't so sunken in, if her face wasn't so pinched and white._

_            "Bella," Harry greeted her warmly, or at least as warm a greeting it was possible for him to give. Bellatrix Lestrange closed the door behind her. She gave Wormtail a contemptuous look, making her look all the more ugly. _

_            "I've just returned from Narcissa's, Master—," Bella said, turning to the Dark Lord. Bella continued in a strong voice, though underneath Harry could sense fear there. "She is, of course, still very distraught."_

_            Harry turned his back and faced the blue fire that burned merrily. "And did you contact Saughtan?"_

_            "Yes, Master. He said—he said it would be quite difficult to convince the dementors to leave Azkaban. He-he rather hoped you would come see them personally?"_

_            Harry was quiet. When he finally spoke his voice was a whisper. "Perhaps I will—the sooner we can get Lucius out, the better. This is turning out to be a more difficult situation than I had thought...I had hoped they would leave immediately. Fudge's quick dealing has kept them there far too long."_

_            "Yes, Master," Bellatrix said looking down, her hair like a curtain of black hiding her face. _

_            "And have you—" Harry said turning to face her. _

_            "Yes master I have..." Bella reached inside her forest green clock and extracted a small glass sphere that glowed with a dull inner light. Wormtail saw that her bare skin was not touching it. She held a metal rag. She held it out to Harry. _

_            Harry smiled, broadly this time. "Very good, Bella," He took it from her and held it with his own hand. _

_            "Where shall it be kept, my Lord?"_

_            Harry smile grew still wider. "With me, for now. It is the only place it is safe from Dumbledore and his Order. And certainly what Dumbledore doesn't know, won't hurt him...or maybe it will," he cackled._

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

            Harry awoke with a start. It took him a moment to realize what he had dreamed. Then a wave of sickness washed over him. Harry flipped over and moved to the edge of the bed, ready to vomit over its side if need be. It had been a long time since he had dreamed he was Voldemort—a long time.

            _How could that happen!? _Harry thought furiously and then it occurred to him. He had been angry last night. He had not been calm and at peace as Dumbledore had always told him to be before he fell asleep. This time had been different. 

            It took another moment for Harry to remember why he had been upset last night. Remembering, he instinctively pulled apart his curtains and looked over at Ron's four-poster. 

            Ron's bed was empty, its curtains open revealing the imprint where Ron had been lying. 

            Harry reached for his glasses and stood up. The floor was bitterly cold on his bare feet; the October wind finding its way through the open window by Harry's dresser. 

            Drawn partly by curiosity and part by wanting to tell someone about his dream, Harry opened his dormitory door and quietly descended the stairs. 

            On the last landing above the common room, Harry heard voices, or at least one angry voice. Harry instantly recognized it as Hermione's. He crept to the side of the 3rd Years' door and peered over the edge of the stone railing. He had a clear view of the common room with its beaten and scarlet sofas, lion-blazoned banners, and roaring fireplace. Ron and Hermione were standing in front of the grate six feet away from each other. Harry began to move down the stairs but Hermione's words stopped him. 

            "I can't believe you did that!" Hermione spat, her arms crossed and her eyes ablaze with fire.

            "Hermione, it's really not that big a deal. Will you calm down?" Ron turned and Harry ducked under the railing. When he brought his head back up, Ron was spread out on the sofa.

            Hermione walked to the couch and stood in front of him, her feet spread. Harry looked her over and noticed with a start that she was just wearing a nightgown. Her robe was lying atop a maroon and gold armchair. It was not, at all, revealing but Harry took notice to the way the light blue material hugged her waist and flared out at the knee revealing her lower legs, the warm firelight dancing over them. Her hair was in disarray, obviously from sleep, and her eyelids seemed to droop with tiredness, though her dark eyes were sharp and alive. 

            "Why? Why would you use, of all the curses you could have done, that one?" Hermione said heatedly. 

            Ron, who had been examining his fingernails with extreme interest, and did not answer for a moment. "Harry's blocked it loads of times. He could block it in his sleep."

            Harry finally realized what they were talking about; the D.A. meeting the previous evening. 

            "That's not the point, Ron! Harry can't be using Pain Deflection anymore. People already think he's some kind of immortal surviving that fall at the Quidditch match. He just can't be blocking pain every time he needs to and by hitting him with that curse you jeopardized his safety, _his life_!"

            There were a few moments of stunned silence, at least on Harry and Ron's part. Hermione was breathing heavily. One arm of her nightgown had fallen off her shoulder, revealing her smooth, pale skin. Harry tried to keep his eyes on her face though he was strangely tempted to look down further. 

            Ron was giving her an incredulous look.

            "Why do you even care, huh? It's like you want him as your boyfriend or something—"

            Hermione's expression softened a little. Harry's ears were almost in pain from straining to catch every word. 

            "Don't be ridiculous," she said hurriedly. She walked to the couch and sat on the edge. 

            Harry wished she could see her face but her long mane of curls was all he could see of her. 

            "You know," she said putting her hands to her face, "It's just that—"

            "Yeah," Ron said softly. He raised his hands and removed Hermione's hands from her face. He held them for a moment. 

            Harry felt anger breach the back of his mind; he looked away and ducked down under the banister. 

            The muscles in Hermione's back tightened. Ron's grasp was warm but she pulled her hands away. "I'm sorry," she said very quietly. "I worry too much, I know...but Harry...he so needs our help."

            Another wave of anger swept over Harry and coursed through his entire body. So that was it. They hadn't told Harry about their relationship because they thought he couldn't take it. Well they didn't need to hide it from him anymore. He played with the idea of confronting them now, telling them he knew that they were together, but Harry heard silence now and didn't want to think about what his two best friends could be doing now. 

            He slowly and carefully turned, with out looking at Hermione or Ron and climbed the stone steps up to his dormitory. He fell into his bed and closed the curtains. 

            Harry's eyes itched with fatigue but knew he needed to be calm before he could fall asleep. But being calm seemed like a far off goal to him. 

            It was true what everyone had said. There _was_ something between Hermione and Ron and he was the last to know. Rage he hadn't felt since the day Sirius died returned to him. Harry tore off his glasses and threw them at his mahogany headboard, breaking in two. Harry cursed as loudly as he could without interrupting Neville's steady snoring. He placed its broken pieces on his end table, not bothering to find his wand to fix them in the dark. 

            Harry lay in bed, refusing to sleep in his frustrated state. He did not hear Ron return to the dormitory and by the time the moon had set Harry had fallen into a fitful sleep devoid of Voldemort, but full of Ron and Hermione in her blue nightgown. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

            Harry awoke that morning with an unpleasant feeling in his neck. He pushed apart his curtains groggily and found Ron asleep in his bed, an arm hanging over the side brushing the floor. The sun was just rising, shining pastels of yellow and orange across the dormitory floor. Seamus, Dean, and Neville were still asleep. It would be another hour before they would get up and prepare for class. Harry rubbed his eyes and reached for his glasses. Finding its broken pieces, Harry grabbed his wand from his dresser and muttered, "_Reparo!_" 

            He quietly changed into his uniform, threw on his robe and silently opened the door and went out. The common room was empty. Dull light filtered through the windows while the fire still burned. Harry's stomach tightened as he passed the fireplace where Hermione and Ron had had their conversation; the couch where they both had sat. 

            Harry walked out of the portrait hole thinking this would be a very long day. 

            Though Harry encountered a deserted castle once he left the common room, it seemed alive in another sense. The following day would be Halloween and the house-elves already seemed to be preparing for it. Harry entered the Great Hall. Giant pumpkins levitated in the air and delicate silver cobwebs hung from one side of the Hall to the other. Silent bats flew high weaving themselves against the ominous gray clouds that glided across the pale sky. The Hall was almost empty. He saw Luna in the middle of the Ravenclaw table, alone. She was holding her fraying rucksack close to her. Harry looked farther down and at the end of the Gryffindor table he saw the unmistakably familiar head of Hermione. Her russet ringlets and curls swayed slightly as she read a book in her lap; she was twirling her fork absently between her thumb and forefinger. 

            Seeing her, Harry thought he'd rather skip breakfast and perhaps go down to the Owlery. But just at that moment, like she had read Harry's thoughts, Hermione pulled her head up and spotted him instantly at the other end of the Hall. She waved cheerfully to him, her fork waving wildly in the air. 

            Harry grimaced but changed it quickly into a smile. He walked nonchalantly over to her, taking a polite interest in the pumpkins suspended above his head. 

            "Hey," she said in an almost annoying tone of cheerfulness. She scooted down the bench a bit to make room for him. Harry reluctantly sat down beside her. He couldn't explain it but knowing that she was Ron's girlfriend made him feel as if she were suddenly untouchable as if an invisible barricade had just now been erected between him. The first feeling of resentment prickled in the back of his mind, like Hermione had erected that wall herself. Harry moved down the bench a bit more, away from her. 

            "Sleep well?" she asked absently as she flipped back several pages in the book she was reading. Harry read its title printed on the top of the page: _Magical Creatures—Symbolism and Fact_. 

            Harry grimaced inwardly, about to reply "not at all." But he stopped himself. He suddenly did not feel like telling her of his dream at all. "I slept fine,"

            Hermione barely seemed to hear him. She dog-eared her book—something Harry new she would never do under the sharp eye of Madam Pince. "Hagrid said he would introduce a new animal today, you know?" She said happily setting down her tome and reaching for a banana in a silver dish. Harry reflexively took it and handed to her. 

            "Thanks—," Hermione said taking it and unpeeling it quickly, "I'm so glad to be done with Fauns—so annoying," she muttered. "Hagrid's been rather good about picking reasonably safe creatures though, don't you think? I really miss Antaeus though..." Hermione sighed looking a bit misty as she reminisced over her beloved Pegasus. 

            Hermione didn't seem to realize she was the only one talking. Harry had been determinedly not looking at her. He wished Ginny, Neville, Dean, or even Ron, would come soon so he could talk to someone else. He had never felt so uncomfortable around Hermione before. 

            "Harry! Are you listening?" 

            Harry was shaken out of his reverie and turned, finally, to look at Hermione. She looked slightly annoyed, but more amused. "What?" Harry said levelly. 

            "I said 'do you want to have your dancing lesson tonight?' We can go to the Animagus classroom. McGonagall told me the password so I can practice in there, if I want...So do you want to?" She said all this very quickly, in contrast to Harry's brain which seemed to be moving very slowly. 

            "Oh," Harry said slowly. He didn't like the idea of dancing with someone who had lied to him for who knows how long, along with the added reason that he was sure Ron wouldn't like the idea of the two of them dancing together. Harry cast about for a reasonable excuse. "I—er have that er—Defense Against the Dark Arts paper to finish the—one about the Wizards Convention and what qualifies as 'dueling' hexes."

            "I thought you finished that on Sunday?" Hermione said shrewdly. 

            Gryffindors were now coming and sitting around Harry and Hermione. 

            "I-I did. But I showed it to Lupin yesterday and I gotta change it a bit..." Harry said, satisfied he had conjured a reasonable lie—though black pinpricks of guilt seemed to cloud his mind temporarily. 

            "Oh," she looked mildly disappointed, "Do you need help?"

            "No!" Harry said so quickly and with harshness that Harry didn't think his voice could posses. Hermione looked at him startled. "No, I don't. Thanks though. I'm going to er—stop by the common room—get my Potion's essay."

            Harry turned and stood up not waiting for Hermione to acknowledge his departure. 

            Halfway down the hall he heard her say "bye," softer and without the cheeriness she had possessed minutes earlier.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

            Potions was a fairly perfunctory event. Snape had lately not spoken to him in lessons; something Harry guessed had to do with Dumbledore. Snape reigned over his class with absolute authority that often the only sounds in the room were Snape's boots on the dungeon flagstone and the gentle simmering of potions. 

            Harry had purposefully arrived to Potions just as the final bell rang, allowing no time to talk with Hermione as they usually did before Snape entered. 

            Harry shivered slightly. The dungeons were becoming draftier with the onset of fall. Harry and his classmates kept low to their cauldrons, sometimes daring to place their hands over the bubbling and boiling contents of their concoctions. Harry looked up from his diced unicorn horn and gazed across the room at Hermione sitting next to Goyle. Goyle's bulk took up much of their tiny working table and Hermione and her supplies were crammed together at one end. She was carefully measuring dragon blood into a vile. Her brow was furrowed in concentration and she bit her lip slightly. She looked very much as she did the previous night—brow furrowed and determined.

            Harry shook himself. It was only nine in the morning and all he was able to do was replay the scene he had witnessed in the common room. In the quiet and subtle calm of the Potions classroom, Harry let his feelings overtake him. Harry often pushed thoughts to the back of his mind to process later, but he felt that if he did not deal with this now, he would not be able to later. 

            A lot of emotions seemed to be harbor in this one revelation. Anger, was undoubtedly the over powering one (Harry stabbed the unicorn horn with his scalpel a little harder than he had meant to), but there was certainly despair, confusion, resentment, abandonment—and jealously. Harry really couldn't explain where the last one came from, only that it was there and it stung with a ruthless and angry stinger; its poison twisting through Harry's veins, slowly intoxicating his mind. 

            This was something Harry had feared ever since he had learned that Ron and Hermione were staying at Grimmuald Place without him. This fear seemed to approach as a large and inevitable wave—a wave he had not foreseen until now. He was loosing his best friends to each other. 

            But it made no sense Harry thought reasonably. There had been no inclination, no hint to a possible relationship other than friends who bickered with each other all the time. And how could someone like Ron (and Harry hated to think it) end up with someone so different—so intelligibly and maturely more advanced than himself. 

            Jealously, Harry thought. Jealously implies that you like someone you can't have and resent them for it. Well that couldn't be right, for Harry certainly did not think of Hermione as anything more than a friend. Hermione was like—his little sister. That wasn't right either; Ginny was more of a little sister to him that Hermione. Besides, little sisters didn't check their older brother's homework. 

            Harry found himself in the same, exact spot. Why was he jealous? It wasn't as if Hermione and Ron were suddenly no longer a part of his life. Harry sighed vaguely—no where near entirely accepting his best friends' relationship. But for now he would keep quiet and tell them he knew about their relationship later. 

            Harry looked up, but instead of finding a busy Potion's classroom he saw Snape's greasy nosed, oily-haired, beady eyed face. 

            "Potter," he said, not exactly loudly but loud enough for the class to hear, "you seem not to realize that everyone is on step five. You, however, seem thoroughly lost on step two. 

            Harry looked down at his cubed unicorn horn, still waiting to be added to his mixture, to the rest of the class who were pouring alligator bile carefully into their cauldrons. 

            "I'm sorry, Professor." Harry said flatly. 

            "Well, I suggest you take your head out of the clouds and finish your potion. An incomplete potion gets a maximum grade of Poor."

            "Yes, Professor," Harry said indifferently.    

            Snape snarled and spun around; his black cloak billowing around is gawky frame. He went of to Draco Malfoy's side, pointing out to anyone who cared, that his potion was exactly the right consistency. 

            Harry waited a moment before looking up. He knew whose eyes were on him. He looked up and met Hermione's eyes, full of concern and worry. Harry looked away and added his unicorn horn. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

            Harry and Hermione met Ron in the entrance hall at the base of the marble staircase and together they proceeded down to Hagrid's hut. When they arrived, Hagrid was nowhere in sight. The class was congregated around a large paddock—its wooden fencing was high, obviously to keep in a rather large animal. 

            Then Harry saw at the edge of the field—but it couldn't be. It looked like Hagrid was pulling Buckbeak across the paddock towards the class. 

            Harry blinked several times. It was Buckbeak. There could be no mistaking it. Harry stared at the familiar steel-colored beak, brilliant orange eyes, and lustrous gray coat. Hippogriffs were quite startling when you first saw him—it wasn't everyday you saw a creature that is half horse and half eagle. Buckbeak had gleaming gray fur that blended beautifully into gleaming white feathers. He flapped his wings agitatedly, staring about at the students with a sharp orange eye. 

            "You remember ol' Buckbeak, don't ya?" Hagrid said, smiling about at the class, most of whom were staring at Buckbeak as if he was a reincarnation of a past lesson—which he was. Harry knew they hadn't forgotten when Hagrid had first brought a hippogriff three years ago—Harry knew he would never forget. 

            Hagrid walked Buckbeak up to the paddock wall and tied him to a nearby beam. 

            "I'm sure ya'll remember in your 3rd year when we studied hippogriffs," Hagrid said cheerfully. "Got special 'mission from Dumbledore this time, cleared it with the Ministry even. Said he thinks now that yeh all are 6th years you can handle 'em. I got Beaky here from—," Hagrid paused. Harry realized with a start that Buckbeak hadn't been at Grimmuald Place that summer. He must have gone somewhere. The last time he had seen Buckbeak was at Christmas when he, Harry, had fed it rats for Sirius...Perhaps Hagrid had gotten Buckbeak from Sirius—after he died. Just as Harry got Grimmuald Place... 

            "I er—got it from a friend I knew..."

            Harry felt, rather than saw, Hagrid give him an anxious sideways glance. He could feel Ron and Hermione's eyes on him as well. 

            "Now," said Hagrid moving to untie Buckbeak, "if ya don't remember, hippogriffs are proud animals. Don't be insultin' one or you'll end with a broken something o' worse."

            Harry smiled slightly, remembering Malfoy. 

            "Ya have to wait fer the hippogriff ter make the firs' move, now," Hagrid went on. "Yeh walk towards 'im like so," Hagrid walked towards Buckbeak, looking him straight in the eye. "Then yeh bow," Hagrid bowed bending one of hiss massive legs at the knee. 

            Buckbeak bowed, looking bored if that was possible. Hagrid smiled and patted his beak and Buckbeak closed his eyes indulgently. "Now who'd like teh try?"

            Harry, Ron, and Hermione instantly came forward. 

            "Righ' you three," said Hagrid beaming at them. Harry, Ron, and Hermione climbed over the fence. Susan and Ernie followed cautiously too. Soon the whole class was had climbed the paddock wall.

            Harry was the first to bow to Buckbeak and Harry saw recognition in its eyes. Buckbeak reminded him terribly of Sirius; the night Hermione and he, Harry, had saved it from execution and then gave it to Sirius to escape on. Harry recalled when he had stayed holed up in Buckbeak's room in Grimmuald Place, avoiding everyone. 

            Buckbeak kneeled immediately after Harry did and Harry moved forward and began stroking the plush feathers that ran along its neck. Harry could feel its taunt muscles moving under his hand. It was eerie being so close to the animal Sirius had spent so much time with—it was almost as if Harry could sense Sirius expertly riding Buckbeak's wide back off into the night shouting, "We'll see each other again. You are—truly your father's son, Harry..."

            Harry shook himself from his stupor. There was no use in thinking such things. Sirius was gone and Harry wouldn't be hearing him speak anytime soon. Ron and Hermione came to stand next to him while Hagrid jogged out of the enclosure, returning with three more hippogriffs; one with a beautiful russet coat, another a stormy gray, and the last one was bronze, reflecting the dull light that penetrated through the clouds that dotted the afternoon sky. 

            Soon all the class was congregated around one hippogriff or another while Hagrid stood among them. 

            Harry was stroking Buckbeak absently while Hagrid plowed through his lesson. 

            "Hippogriffs have been 'round thousan' years. Greek Muggles use teh draw them on pottery and art." Harry was barely listening, along with the rest of the class who seemed more interested in stroking their hippogriff's back and keeping away from its lethal-looking talons. "Now hippogriffs are born when a horse mates with a griffin. So they represent love. Im-plaus-ible love matter o' fact" Hagrid said carefully. He seemed to be recalling the exact words from a book.

            "What?" Hermione said to his left. 

            "Im-plausible love," Hagrid repeated. "Now in the time of the Greeks, the wizards used teh—"

            They spent the rest of the class listening to Hagrid's lesson and by the time it was over Harry was very aware of the growling of his stomach. After bidding Hagrid goodbye, Harry joined Ron and Hermione as the ascended the grassy knoll that led the way to the castle's entrance. 

            "Ron, where's your book bag?" Harry said catching up to him and noting something amiss about Ron's appearance. 

            "Oh sh—wait a second," Ron turned and raced off towards Hagrid's hut. Harry could just make out a black rucksack hanging off one of the paddock's posts at the far end of the field. 

            Harry pushed a dirt clod over the grass, not meeting Hermione's eyes. 

            "You alright, Harry? You seem awfully distracted." Harry heard Hermione say. He could tell she was speaking cautiously as if she thought saying something wrong might cause him to explode. 

            "Mmhmm," Harry muttered levelly. He wished Ron would hurry up.

            Hermione cleared her throat. She seemed to be filling the silence. "Interesting lesson, huh?" she said conversationally. 

            "Uh huh," Harry gave up on the dirt clod and rummaged through his book bag not really looking for anything. 

            "Interesting how hippogriffs are made—," she said vaguely. 

            Harry smiled a bit to himself, trying not to think about how, exactly, a hippogriff was made. But that wasn't what he thought Hermione was talking about. 

            "A griffin and a horse—," said Hermione, even more distantly. 

            "What are you on about?" Harry said curiously. 

            Hermione hesitated for a moment, slowly making a hole in the ground with her tiny booted foot. When she finally spoke, she looked directly at him in the face. "Don't you think it's weird that you are a gr—," 

            Ron just arrived looking winded and carrying his bag precariously over one shoulder. "C'mon I'm starving."

            Harry followed and out of the corner of his eye he thought he saw Hermione roll her eyes. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

            Harry hadn't said much a dinner, preferring to listen to the ramble that surrounded the Gryffindor table. Usually he was somewhat the center of attention, talking Quidditch with Ron, Seamus, and Dean. The girls, save Hermione, would gossip and giggle as tall 7th year Ravenclaw boys would pass the table. Occasionally, they would giggle when Draco Malfoy passed the table—something that made Harry sick to the core. Katie usually sat fairly near Harry and cast hasty glances to where the 7th year boys ate. Harry didn't have to think hard at who she was looking at. Hermione usually read or talked to Ginny. 

            Over at the Ravenclaw table, Cho was always the center of attention with the usual five or six girls clustered around her talking about such frivolous things as the cutest Witch Weekly bachelor or what new Lipstick Charm had been invented. Harry had not failed to notice that Michael Corner no longer sat next to her. Luna, like Hermione, usually read out of some dusty tome. She frequently looked up, however, with her slightly bug-like eyes and stared about at the students and food as if she were deciding whether she could make a pair of earrings out of them. 

            Susan and Hannah Abbot were talking amiably, with another girl Harry didn't know, at the Hufflepuff table. Ernie was waving his arms in with animated gestures to four other boys. It looked very much like they were talking Quidditch as well. 

            The teacher's table was oddly empty. Dumbledore and McGonagall where nowhere to be seen, but that wasn't odd because neither of them were hardly ever seen at meals, lately. Hagrid's enormous form was also not present along with Snape's greasy hair and black cloak. Professors Sinistra and Flitwick were, however, there and conversing pleasantly amongst themselves. Professor Vector was also there, surprisingly. She hardly ever left her lofty Arithmancy room (Hermione always said she preferred the quiet of her office). She was pushing her peas around, aimlessly with a tea spoon where Lupin usually sat, another person who was absent. 

            And at the far end of the hall, farthest away from the Gryffindor table, were the Slytherins. They were probably the quietest of all the tables. They tended to talk in low, almost secretive voices. True to its reputation, many of the table's occupants had a parent that was a Death Eater or involved in some other underhanded activity. Draco Malfoy, as always, was flanked by his bodyguards Crabbe and Goyle but was more frequently seen surrounded by Slytherin girls. As Harry watched, he saw Blaise Zambini laugh flirtatiously, hit Draco lightly on the arm, and toss her hair. 

            Harry turned back to the flurry or chatter and laughter at his own house table. It seemed to fall like a wave of sound on Harry's ears—not meaning much, just annoying. He slowly got up without any preamble. He didn't feel hungry anymore—though he had barely eaten anything. He needed to get away. He felt like a stranger in a foreign country; everything was confusing and alien. He swung his legs over the bench and walked out of the Great Hall. He heard several people call his name but Harry strode on, ignoring them.

            Harry didn't know exactly where he was going or why—just wanting to get away from the sounds from the Great Hall, away from everyone. 

            He rather unexpectedly found himself in the 2nd floor corridor that housed the Ancient Runes and Muggle Studies classrooms. It was quite deserted and quite silent. Harry walked to the statue of Alexandra the Daring, a pretty witch wearing full battle regalia and holding a primitive spear in her right arm. She looked rather like Hermione, Harry thought absentmindedly. Harry slid against the wall and sat at the statue's base. He didn't understand why he needed to be alone—perhaps it was that tomorrow would be Halloween, the anniversary of his parents' death. He had now gone sixteen years without them; sixteen years ago he became famous. Consequently, he thought of their murderer. Voldemort was somewhere in some far off place, planning his return. Harry wondered why there had been nothing in the newspaper about attacks or disappearances, or events that usually took place when Voldemort was on the rise. Surely since everyone knew of his return, Voldemort wouldn't waste anytime recreating the mayhem he had so many years ago. But of course there had been that dream. Voldemort was planning something—planning to get something he didn't have. And there was something Dumbledore didn't have—something Voldemort was keeping to himself. The details were becoming blurrier like Harry was trying to hold water. He probably should have written it down. 

            There was a flash of silver to his right and Harry blinked. Nearly-Headless Nick was coming down the hall towards him. Harry came out from behind the statue not exactly sure why he wanted to talk to the Gryffindor ghost. 

            "Nick!" called Harry. 

            Nick's transparent eyes focused on Harry and he smiled. "Ah, Harry," he said cordially. "Why are you all alone and not a dinner? Saving your appetite for tomorrow's feast?"

            Harry smiled a little. "You could say that." Harry started to move down the hallway with him. "You ready for Halloween, Nick?"

            The ghost smiled delightedly at this. "Oh, yes. I intend to have a gathering with a few of my close friends for tomorrow. Not as big as it was four years ago."

            "You mean a Halloween party?"

            "No, no! My Deathday party, it will be my 504th."

            "Oh," said Harry recalling the infamous Deathday party he had attended with Ron and Hermione in his 2nd year. "So that's why all the ghosts are so excited?"

            "Oh, no," Nick said so merrily that his neck wobbled a bit dangerously on its high-collared ruff. "Halloween to the ghosts is like Christmas to you."

            "Why?" Harry asked, intrigued. 

            "Well, Halloween is the one day of the year when ghost and spirits can move into other worlds. The rest of the time we are bound within the realm we created for ourselves when we die."

            "You mean ghosts couldn't do that before?"

            "Oh, let there be no mistake. We can move between past and present—but to the land of the dead we cannot. So tomorrow's almost like a reunion. They can come into the Living World and we can go into theirs. Does that make sense?"

            "I guess so, but how come I never see any spirits on Halloween?"

            "Well, living people can only see them if the spirit is summoned."

            "Really?" Harry said fascinated. Harry looked at Nearly-Headless Nick's translucent face and was surprised to find it looking stricken. 

            "What?"

            "Your not supposed to know about that, Harry," Nick said, anxiously peering down the hallway, through the walls, and up at the ceiling.

            "Why not?"

            "Because," said Nick, turning back to him and lifting the ruffle around his neck a little higher up, "if people knew they could summon and talk to the dead on Halloween—well people would be talking to dead relatives everywhere—,"

            Harry cut him off. "What's wrong with that?"

            "It's too long of a story than I care to explain—I'll just say that it messes up the natural order of things. Terrible things can happen if too many dead were summoned."

           Harry's mind was racing. You could contact and talk to the dead! It was like some big cosmic secret that Nick had just let slip. Harry almost exploded with excitement.

            "How do you summon the dead anyway?" ventured Harry.

            "Well, it's not at all as complicated as Necromancy in the sense that a natural hole forms in between the two worlds all by itself." Nick said distractedly, as he floated a little faster down the hall with Harry at his heels. "All you would need is an item of the dead person's and a place you know they have been and the right incantation—,"

            "Which is?" said Harry almost tripping on a stone step as they descended a dark stairway.

           "It's an old Latin phrase—let me see..." Nick looked thoughtful for a moment. They were standing in another deserted hallway, this one full of dreary looking tapestries depicting ancient battles and people. He paused next to a tapestry of a distinguished looking gentleman holding a small witch with blonde hair by the arm. Harry noticed with a start that the man in tapestry looked very much like a younger version of Nick who was hovering restlessly before him.

            But, suddenly, a calm passed over Nick. He seemed to be recalling something he had always known, something he was born with... "It's—_ Huic inibi post mortem quando mortalitas levare. Lux et veritas, lux et veritas, lux et veritas."_

            Harry stared. "That's kind of long."

            "Well, yes," Nick admitted turning to face the dark hallway. "The full account of how to do the ceremony is in a book titled, _Ancient Ceremonies of the Necro-wizard_, I believe," he added, bobbing around nervously. 

            "_Ancient Ceremonies of the Necro-wizards_," Harry repeated.

            "Yes. Look, Harry, I must dash but I'll see you at the feast tomorrow. We'll be doing our traditional ghostly display—,"    

            "Right," said Harry, not really hearing him but repeating _Ancient Ceremonies of the Necro-wizard _over and over in his head. 

            "And Harry,"       

            "Yes," Harry said, snapping back to reality.

            "Best to keep this under your hat; it's forbidden for a ghost to tell a mortal about this ceremony. You won't say anything, won't you?"

            "'Course not," Harry lied, muttering the title under his breath.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~      

            Harry's feet hit loudly against the stone floor. His feet protested this treatment, but Harry didn't even think about slowing down. As he ran back down to the Great Hall, he found it empty—save a few Ravenclaws who were doing homework at their house table. Hermione and Ron were not there. 

            Harry turned and sprinted up the majestic marble staircase, pushing innocent 1st years out of his way. Not bothering with apologies, Harry raced up several more staircases until he finally reached the Fat Lady's Portrait. 

            "Crookshanks," said Harry breathlessly, holding a stitch in his side.  

            Harry found Ron and Hermione sitting on the same couch he saw them on the previous night. Hermione was reading a leather-bound book, occasionally looking up to keep an eye on some mischievous 3rd years. Ron was hanging upside down; his red hair lightly skimming the aging carpet. He, too, was reading.

            Ignoring the fact that Ron's hand was a little too close to Hermione's leg for his comfort, Harry quickly walked toward him.

            "Hermione," Harry whispered causing Hermione to jump. Ron looked up to. 

            "You've gotta come with me to the library."

            Hermione's smile that accompanied his arrival quickly changed to a look of confusion. "Why? And why did you run off at dinner? What's wrong?"

            "Just c'mon!" Harry said, raising his voice several octaves. A curious 4th year looked in their direction. Hermione got up, followed quickly by Ron. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~            

            "So what you're saying is we can talk to Sirius? Tomorrow night?" said Hermione, flipping forward several pages in _Ancient Ceremonies of the Necro-wizards_.

            "Yes," Harry whispered. Harry had decided on the way to the library that he couldn't handle seeing his parents—and he could only see one. Deciding which one was unfathomable to him. So he chose Sirius, mainly because Sirius' death was such a mystery to him. What had happened after he fell through that veil, with its cryptic voices and indiscernible wind—a question Harry wanted to know, needed to know. 

            Hermione, being a prefect, had gotten out of the Restricted Section. She looked down at it now; her long brown curls spilling onto the page.

            "I don't know Harry..." Hermione said lowering her voice as Madame Pince moved past their table and into the Invisibility section. 

            "What don't you know?" said Harry so harshly that he surprised himself.

            Hermione finally looked up. Her eyes were steady but Harry could see hurt there, just as plainly as he could see her face. "We don't have an item of Sirius' and tomorrow will be Halloween. It only works at night, after sundown. If we aren't at the feast someone will notice. Besides, you could only talk to Sirius for maybe a minute—mattering on how well we do the spell."

            "Then we'll do it after the feast. And I have an object of Sirius'. He gave it to me back at Grimmuald Place. It's a mirror."

            There was silence for a moment. Ron had his back to them both looking warily around for eavesdroppers. Hermione was gazing down at the book again.

            "Look the feast will end around ten. We'd only have two hours to get things ready—and where would we go where no one could interrupt us? You know what kind of uproar it would cause if saw Sirius—a fugitive—someone who is supposed to be dead?" 

            "Hardly anybody knows he's dead! Look! If you don't want to do it then Ron and I can do it ourselves." Harry whispered callously, staring straight into her wide eyes. He couldn't understand why she didn't want him to see Sirius—how could she take this chance away from him?

            Ron turned back around to face Harry and Hermione. "What?"

            Hermione ignored him. "You know I won't let you do this without me! It's just that you need a place where no one will find you. There's no place like that in the castle. Maybe next Halloween...when we're more prepared—"        

            "NO!" 

            "Shhh!" Madame Pince suddenly reappeared and cast them a scandalous look before turning to harass two gossiping 2nd year girls four tables away.  

            "No, Hermione," whispered Harry. "I know a place..."

            Hermione's eyes were wide—her brown irises very thin. "Where?"

            Harry leaned close to her. If it was possible, Hermione's eyes went wider. 

            "The lake; you remember—third year with the dementors. No one would be there..."

            Hermione looked at him for a moment—not taking her eyes away from his, alive with green fire. She slowly looked back down at _Ancient Ceremonies of the Necro-wizards_. 

            _"Huic inibi post mortem quando mortalitas levare._ Lux et veritas, lux et veritas, lux et veritas,"_ she recited with a skilled tongue. "Write it down._

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  

            Harry slowly put a mouthful of treacle fudge into his mouth. It didn't have any taste—it was more like chewing on paper. He looked over at Ron who was slowly drinking his pumpkin juice in long gulps. Hermione, on the other hand, was moving her ice cream slowly around quite distractedly. She was just as nervous as he was. 

            Harry's lessons had gone by slowly. He couldn't wait for the final bell that would release them from Defense against the Dark Arts, and now that they were over, a dull fear seemed to creep into Harry—the numbing weight of foreboding. A small lump protruded from Harry's robes—the mirror. Harry found the small square mirror quite as he left it. Its broken glass had been scattered around the bottom of his trunk. He had done a Reparation Charm but one piece was still missing. A small whole now presided in its place. Its grimy brass frame and wooden backing still held Sirius' note to him. Something Harry determinedly did not read. 

            Harry moved restlessly in his chair. Everywhere around him people were eating and talking happily. Nearly-Headless Nick was telling several 1st years quite a disturbing story—or at least it appeared so, by the look on their faces. Parvati Padmil and Lavender Brown were blathering loudly at one end of the table. Harry was sure he had heard his name more than once. Seamus was talking to Dean and Ginny with the unrelenting topic of Quidditch on their lips.

            It all seemed to circle around Harry, Ron, and Hermione as if they were oddly separate, as if the ramble of laughter, chatting, and giggling was a foreign language; one which Harry had no way to interpret. 

            Harry looked over at Hermione. He could tell she was nervous—even more nervous than she had been before O.W.L.s. Well maybe not that nervous. 

            She was trembling slightly. Harry wished he could tell her everything would be fine but he wasn't entirely sure himself. 

            There is no reason to be nervous Harry told himself. But the idea that he would soon be talking to his godfather—someone who had been dead for four months—weighed heavily on his mind. 

            "What I am going to say to him? Will Sirius be able to answer where he was? I've never heard any wizard speak of Heaven...is there even a wizard-Heaven? If there was, would Sirius be there? ..."

            He didn't want to think of Sirius anywhere else.

            There was suddenly a large scraping of benches against the flag stone floor. Everyone was getting up; all the deserts and the treacle fudge Harry had been eating had suddenly vanished. The feast had ended. 

            Harry got up slowly with Hermione and Ron and the stepped into the moving throng of students. Following the current out into the entrance hall, Harry climbed the marble staircase, making for the Gryffindor Tower. He could hear Hermione following, desperately and bravely breaking through a mob of Slytherins to catch up to him. The three of them ascended four more staircases until the crowds dissipated and they were alone. 

            "Got the mirror?" Hermione said, stopping besides a portrait of a proud looking wizard with messy black hair. 

            Harry nodded. "Got the book?" 

            Hermione nodded also. Harry could see _Ancient Ceremonies of the Necro-wizards_ blending effortlessly in with her various other school books--including the book Harry recognized as the one he gave her the previous Christmas. It looked slightly tattered and well-used. Harry smiled despite his nervousness. 

            Harry, Ron, and Hermione waited several more minutes in an abandoned classroom until Hermione stuck her head out and peered down the quiet corridor. She, being a prefect, was allowed to be out at such an hour. Ron could have done it also, but people tended to forget he was a prefect. 

            Meanwhile, Ron was busy taking Harry's invisibility cloak out of Harry's school bag. Hermione reappeared; her face was white with worry but she looked determined none the less.

            Ron unfurled the Invisibility Cloak. "C'mon Hermione, get under the cloak."

            Harry had grown almost to Ron's height (perhaps two inches shorter) and they both towered over Hermione's small figure. Harry realized, though his mind was numb, that he had to stoop quite a bit to accommodate to the height difference. He had never had to do that before. 

            Together they half walked, half shuffled to the door. Hermione stuck her hand out of the cloak's silky fabric and opened the door, her hand becoming visible. 

            An empty hallway greeted them. The starry sky filtered in through the high Gothic windows, setting the floor and walls into shadow. It was very quiet, but the energy of the feast still seemed to cling to the air. The trio carefully descended the staircases until they reached the large oak doors that led to the grounds. Harry and Ron opened it, hoping against hope that the hinges were well oiled. 

            The moon was full, making the dying grass look a cool robin-egg blue. There was not a breath of wind or a single sound, save the eerie silence that pressed against Harry's ear. He felt someone reach out and grab his hand. It was Hermione.

            _She probably thinks I'm Ron, _Harry thought fleetingly. He held onto to it for a moment, enjoying the comfort it brought to such a tense situation. He let go reluctantly.

            Walking around the final curving wall of granite, the three stopped before the huge and shimmering lake. It mirrored the night sky perfectly. No ripple defaced it smooth surface that hid a myriad of creatures Harry never wanted to encounter again. They turned and walked to the South bank near the Womping Willow. It was from here that Sirius had attempted to catch his "best friend" but had ended up defending himself against a hundred soul-sucking Dementors. 

            Harry felt the Invisibility cloak pulled off his head and saw Ron and Hermione reappear beside him. 

            Ron sighed heavily, as though he hadn't been breathing for quite a while. "Best get going. The more time we'll have to talk." 

            Harry felt placated by hearing his best friend's strong voice; a voice that had deepened only the previous year. It was unwavering--an island of calmness in a rioting ocean. 

            Hermione extricated _Ancient Ceremonies of the Necro-wizards_ from her bag and together they sat down on the cool grass in a small circle. Harry took out Sirius' mirror from his robes and placed it into the middle of the circle. Hermione flipped past pages of wizards raising the dead from their tombs, and ancient death ceremonies before she came to the appropriate page. 

            "Okay, this is it," said Hermione a bit shakily, as her finger ran down the page and stopped at a picture of three people sitting in a circle around a hairbrush. "Now to make this work right, we each need to touch the mirror and say the incantation together. So on three we'll all say it, alright?"

            She looked from Harry to Ron and they both nodded. The moon's glare shined beautifully on Hermione's swirling hair, looking as though she was wearing a halo. Ron's light hair, however, looked white so that he looked decades older than he was. 

            "Alright, now put your hands on the mirror," Hermione said stretching out both of her arms and placing her delicate white hands on the mirror's broken surface. Ron's long-fingered, wide-knuckled hands followed. And, finally, Harry placed his slightly shaking fingers atop the little space that remained on the mirror's face; Hermione's fingers gently brushing against his thumb. 

            Hermione was visibly shaking now. Her face was white, though it could have just been a reflection of the ground. "Now on three, say the incantation. One."

            Harry looked over at Ron. He looked back and smiled the slightest of smiles.

            "Two."

            Harry looked over at the lake. Its surface was moving slightly. Beyond that, the trees were swaying a rhythmic motion. He turned and looked at Hermione. Her eyes were wide and while they still held nervousness and fear, Harry could see the slightest bit of excitement etched into her face. She caught his eye, only momentarily, and Harry felt a heaven-sent calm wash over him like a gentle embrace. 

            "Three."

            There was an intake of breath from all three of them and Harry suddenly felt as if he had no tongue at all. But he recited

            "_Huic inibi post mortem..."  
            Harry's low voice blended smoothly with Ron's even lower voice and Hermione's higher melodious tones. The mirror seemed to glow a little brighter. Harry's hands suddenly felt frigidly cold.  
            __"...quando mortalitas levare..."  
            He heard Hermione stammer slightly to his right. The simple brass frame of the mirror flickered then continued to glow steadily. Harry blinked. The frame looked unused and pristine.  
            __"Lux et veritas..."_

            Little wisps of silvery light began to swirl in the glass, forming tiny, spinning points of light.

            _"Lux et veritas..."  
            The wisp grew taller, elongating into long strands of silver. They rose out of the mirror. The light shined over Harry's face, edging it in silver, like snow against his dark hair._

            _"Lux et veritas,"_ they all said with finality.

            The longs stands of sliver were now as tall as a man—though the swirling mass was shapeless and indistinct. For a moment nothing happened and the three stared, entranced, at what was before them.  
            Then slowly and ever so slightly the silver strands and glowing light transformed into features Harry had not seen for months—features he had believed he would never see again.  
            The silvery fibers flattened at the top and seemed to grow and twist together like hair. A mouth and nose protruded from a starry face and eyes of hollow light sunk into form. The rest of the figure stayed mainly unformed and swirled about like coronas on the sun.  
            Harry gazed at the figure and felt his heart beat wildly against his ribcage. _"Sirius?" He asked so tentatively that it came out softer than his breath.  
            The form looked at Harry, with what Harry guessed were its eyes, and then, suddenly the glimmering pupils turned a deep brown—almost black. Harry knew those eyes. The hair changed from floating silver, to long strands of russet locks. The face took on a light flesh color that was cut and bruised in places Harry remembered. On the valleys of his cheeks grew a slight stubble and his mouth was thin and curving upwards as it almost always was. The rest of him still remained silver, though a bit more distinct with clothing Harry remembered seeing him wear on his last day.  
            Harry probably gazed at this strange form of Sirius for a minute before he remembered where he was. Hermione and Ron were also gazing, in rapture, at their fallen friend.  
            __"Siri—," Harry spoke once again, but his godfather cut him off.  
            "I should have known you'd find a way...I rather hoped you would," said the spirit smiling broadly, but sadly.  
            Harry would have smiled had he not been trying so hard to ignore the burning in the corner of his eyes.  
            "Sirius..." said Harry again, barely comprehending anything except his numb disbelief and overwhelming feelings of happiness and heartache.  
            He was now on his knees.  
            All Harry wanted to do was hug his godfather—tell him he was sorry for everything, sorry for making him come rescue him, sorry for being so gullible, sorry for loving him so much that he felt he __had to rescue him from Voldemort.  
            Harry reached out one paper-white hand into where Sirius' right leg would have been. His fingers slid through the silver stands and glowing fibers as if nothing was there.  
            Sirius looked down at him, this time with sadness more pronounced on his unearthly glowing face. "I'm glad you did this," he repeated. "It's something James would have done."  
            Harry removed his hand from the shimmering matter. "Sirius..."  
            A ghostly smile appeared on Sirius' mouth. "Is that all you can say now?"  
            "Where are you?"  
            Darkness passed behind his godfather's eyes. He looked passed him and down at the ground. "I see you finally used the mirror."  
            Harry ripped his eyes away for a moment. Ron was still staring open-mouthed, but Hermione was looking at him. Her face was unreadable.  
            "Where are you?" Harry asked again more forcefully. He had long ago abandoned his battle to stop his tears. He was aware they were falling down his cheeks.  
            The darkness once again passed over Sirius' immaculate eyes.  
            "Hello, Sirius," Hermione said. She was now kneeling next to Harry, passing him the most fleeting of glances.  
            "Hello, Hermione," Sirius said warmly.  
            Harry pushed Hermione away. "Tell me!" Harry shouted, no longer caring that it was near midnight on Halloween and he was supposed to be in the Gryffindor tower doing homework by the fireside.  
            Sirius looked at him with a mixture of surprise, alarm, and the undying look of sorrow. Harry saw rather than heard Sirius say "no."  
            "Sirius, __please," Harry said inching ever closer, on knee, to Sirius' spirit.  
            Sirius looked away for a moment—off to the lake. Harry wasn't sure he could see its still waters and murky blackness, for his eyes did not seem to acknowledge anything. He turned back and held out his hand.  
            Harry stared at it with its glimmering rises and falls, lines etched across its surface, devoid of one rather large line Harry remembered—his Life line. Harry reached for it and this time did not feel air. Sirius grasped Harry's hand with ghostly fingers and Harry rocked forward.  
            Everything was gray and unfamiliar. A rush of roaring wind pressed against this ears, blowing his hair wildly about. And, suddenly, Harry could see. He was on a gray embankment of stone, only broken by the gray grass that grew from its crevices. Harry looked around and found Sirius' form still holding his hand; beyond that—beyond that were hundreds, maybe thousands of spirits like Sirius, all with their own faces and crying voices.  
            Sirius, where are we?" Harry tried to say. The words came out muffled and weak against the deafening wind. The wind did not seem to bother Sirius or any other nameless spirit. Their hair still clung limply to their necks. Their indistinct clothing was not windblown or even moved at all.  
            Look," said Sirius pointing outward.  
            Harry had to catch his breath. Beyond there were hundreds of more spirits floating atop large rock islands—hundreds of forlorn spirits. _

            They all floated atop a river—a river Harry had never seen before. Instead of holding water it held still more spirits, but these swirled in blackness and looked nothing like Sirius. They were dark and empty and soulless. They rushed off into to darkness while still more took their place. It never ended.  
            Harry wanted to scream, to cry, to be held, but no one came. Harry suddenly felt himself drawn to the River, as though it had called him to join the soulless and hollow-eyed fiends. The immenseness of it all frightened and consumed him.  
            He felt a white hand on his shoulder.  
            "You wouldn't want to go in there," said Sirius' forlorn voice.  
            "Sirius, who are all these people?" said Harry, turning away.  
            Sirius gestured to the black river. "Those are the Hopeless. They go to a place where no one can escape to be devoured by their nightmares and horrors."  
            Harry cringed. "And you...what are you."  
            Sirius turned to and looked at the other milling spirits. They did not seem to notice that an alive boy had just been brought into their midst.  
            "We could be called hopeless as well. We are the Murdered. Our souls are restless and want revenge. We will stay here until we are avenged—when we can be a peace."  
            "All these people were murdered." It was a statement not a question. "That must mean—,"  
            "Yes, they are here."  
            Harry's heart swelled in his chest—his parents.  
            "Wh-where are they, on another island?" Harry turning and looking down the River where thousands of more stone islands were moored. He looked desperately for a head of strawberry hair and green eyes and one with jet-black hair, like his own.  
            "You cannot speak with them."  
            "Why?" Harry asked harshly to his godfather, his fists clenched. Sirius was fading around the edges of his face, like a camera going out of focus.  
            "I cannot either. I cannot speak to anyone but the Living and you called me so I am the only one who may speak with you."  
            Harry's heart fell to his feet and a wave of insuppressible sadness washed over him. "S-shouldn't you all be in Heaven or something!" Harry yelled. "You're not supposed to be here! They aren't supposed to be here!"  
            "But we are Harry!" Sirius said back, though he did not raise his voice. He gripped Harry's shoulder and then sighed deeply. "We will be here until we are avenged..."  
            Harry was quiet.  
            "And how must you be avenged?" Harry said quietly through gritted teeth.  
            Sirius gazed at him...  
            ...and Harry understood. His eyes began to sting again.  
            "Your time is short Harry. You cannot stay much longer," said Sirius and as he was saying this, he began to fade into blurry whiteness.  
            "No!"  
            "Listen to me Harry!" and Sirius knelt to the ground and held him by the shoulders. "Dark days are coming. Hermione—stay near to Hermione. She knows what is right. Do not leave her. She so cares for you and Ron—Ron will always be loyal. Trust him and he will stand by you. Stay near them both—they are your strength. Do you hear me?!"  
            Sirius was fading faster and Harry felt a tugging in his back. 'Yes, I hear you!"  
            "Stay strong, Harry. If you cannot do this, _none can!"  
            "Do __what?" Harry shouted as wind roared in his ears, closing his eyes shut._

            "Harry, I love you—,"  
            Harry didn't get to answer back.  
            There was a rush of color and sound and Harry was pulled backwards, away from the Dead, the River, and Sirius. He flew without knowing where he would land, but Harry didn't care.  
            _'I love you' were his last words to him. Hearing that drove pain into Harry's heart like he had never experienced—heart-breaking, world-shattering pain.  
            "Harry! Harry!" said a familiar voice shouting his name. It was Ron._

            Harry opened his eyes. He was lying on the grass, Sirius' mirror at his feet. It looked old and tarnished as it had been before. Harry slowly sat up.  
            "Where's Hermione?"  
            Ron looked anxiously down at him. "We heard a noise coming from the castle after—after Sirius took you. She went to check it out. I waited here, encase you came back...Where did you go anyway?"  
            Harry stood up, preferring to ignore the question. He picked up the mirror and cleaned a few leaves off its glass. "We should head back. Hermione's a prefect. She won't get in trouble if she's out."  
            "Right," said Ron and together they made their way to the doors that lead to the entrance hall. Ron and Harry were just insight of the great oak doors when they opened. Harry reached for the Invisibility cloak, but a small hand appeared and Harry recognized it instantly. Hermione came running out to meet them. Her face was paler than Harry had seen it in a long while and her eyes were the size of saucers.  
            "What's wrong with you?" Ron asked with surprise at Harry's right, as Hermione stopped in front of them.  
            It took Hermione a moment to answer. And then, "Kingsley Shacklebolt—he's dead."  
            "W-what?" Ron said in shock.

            "I heard it from Dumbledore in the hallway, he was talking to McGonagall. He was killed."  
            Ron gave an indignant, frightened cry while Harry felt a wave or sickness flow over him and look towards the ground.

            Hermione took several deep breaths, recovering from her sprint. Then, she cast her brown eyes on Harry and he willingly met them.  
            "Are you alright, Harry?" she asked cautiously with eyes full of concern.  
            Harry nodded, thinking at least one more person would be joining Sirius.  
            Hermione looked at him shrewdly and then turned away. It was so easy for her to read his mood.   
            Harry gazed at her for a moment before she got under the Invisibility cloak and proceeded back to the castle together.  
            _She so cares for you...  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Whew! Another chapter and my longest yet, 10,700 words!  
So things are taking on a darker twist and for all of you romantics, do not be discouraged. The dancing lessons and Yule Ball is next. I also got the idea for the "River" and some other aspects of Sirius' afterlife from **Cassandra Claire's Draco Trilogy. Read them, they are really good! I will do my best to produce another chapter soon as time permits. **Thank you******to all my reviewers and if you haven't ****reviewed please do. They really, really do get me in a writing mood. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this slightly darker chapter and as always please read and review! ~Michelle AD**_


	14. Left in the Dark

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters mentioned in this fanfiction. Harry Potter and all characters from the Harry Potter Series are property of J.K. Rowling.

**New Beginnings**

**Chapter Fourteen: Left in the Dark**

            Harry sat, watching intently as the Headmaster swirled his thoughts in a large stone basin. The ancient writing around its edge glowed dully in the silvery light that radiated from its depths. Tiny hurricanes of white light danced along the ornate wooden walls that held hundreds of gold frames all bearing the portraits of past headmasters. At the moment, most were not snoring contently in their painted world, but were wide awake and listening to Harry's retelling.  It was dark outside and the first stars began to appear on the black canvas of night. 

            Harry finished telling his dream to Dumbledore, hoping to alleviate his fears by the visit with the wise old man. He had felt unable to tell Ron or Hermione, knowing the peace and calm that followed such a confession couldn't match the relief he felt telling Dumbledore. He had told the dream in detail, far more detail than Harry thought he remembered, and the worries and troubles brought by the dream dulled slightly under Dumbledore's clear blue eyes.

            Strangely enough, however, Dumbledore had not been startled. In fact, he showed little emotion at all except quiet attention. "Good thing he's calm," thought Harry. Ron would have stared numbly in disbelief and fear. Hermione would have squeaked and blinked back tears, but Dumbledore sat silently, his chin balancing on his fingers, his eyes never leaving Harry's face. 

            Now he still sat, Harry done with his long rendition, stirring the silvery threads of his mind. He had not asked any questions and thankfully never asked why Harry was not calm before going to bed. He had been silent for quite some time, not even acknowledging that Harry had finished his story.

            Harry finally spoke, "Professor?"

            The old man snapped out of his reverie, looking mildly surprised that Harry was there. Harry was suddenly struck by how old Dumbledore really was. His skin was sallow in the glowing light and dark purple marks circled his eyes. He looked as though he hadn't slept in weeks. His face had lost the soft definition

Harry knew so well instead his face was full of dropping wrinkles and soft blue patches. He was, nonetheless, the same alert and slightly whimsical Headmaster that presided at the Teacher's table and walked down hallways importantly with Ministry officials that came to call. 

            "What do you think it means, Professor?" Harry questioned, trying to remind the old man about what he had came to talk about. 

            Dumbledore took a moment to answer. He seemed to be choosing his words carefully. "Well, it would appear that Voldemort has new plans and that we must be on high alert," he answered tonelessly. He said this as if he said it all the time; like it had been rehearsed.

            "The Dementors. We have to get rid of them!" Harry said vehemently, brow furrowed in confusion. He knew what an asset Lucius Malfoy was to the Dark Lord and cringed at the idea of him once again roaming the streets of the Wizarding World. Of course, there was the added reason of not wanting to see the triumphant sneer Draco would, undoubtedly, wear whenever he saw Harry, if his father did escape. 

            "You'll find that there are few ways of killing a Dementor, none of which would appeal to you," Dumbledore's eyes flickered and the corner of his mouth went up slightly. 

            "Well, we must do something!" said Harry angrily, moving to the edge of the beautifully upholstered chair on which he sat. He peered wildly at the old man. He certainly wasn't going to allow Voldemort to free his Deatheaters, was he?

            "All you need to do, Harry, is continue your training. You need not worry about this. I will take care of it."

           "The last time you tried to keep me from worrying I ended up in the Ministry of Magic fighting off ten Deatheaters!" Harry spat, surprising himself, but firm nonetheless. He had come to feel, more recently, that the old Headmaster was hiding something from him. The indignation this caused within Harry was like none he had ever felt. But the feeling quickly left him at the look on Dumbledore's face. 

            His eyes lost their glow and he looked down at the desk. He obviously hadn't forgiven himself and Harry hadn't either. Anyone who caused the death of Sirius, though only partly, deserved in Harry's eyes nothing short of misery. 

            "I'm sorry, Professor—I just. Why has there been nothing about Voldemort in the papers? Nothing's happened at all except for Kingsley's death and he was only in the obituaries—and—and I'd just like to know what is happening..." Harry finished lamely but watched the Headmaster closely. 

            "Nothing has happened," Dumbledore said looking back down at his desk. "All you need to do is focus on your training and—,"

            Harry was about to reply but a knock sounded at the door. Not waiting for the Headmaster's reply, Professor McGonagall and Lupin strode in. They did not look surprised to see Harry, though Lupin smiled at him briefly before looking towards Dumbledore.  

            "Harry, you must excuse me. I have a meeting I must attend," Dumbledore said rising. 

            Harry stood quickly also, struck by sudden thought, "An Order meeting?" he said eagerly.

            Lupin and McGonagall turned to look at him. McGonagall gave him a stern and annoyed look while Lupin looked mildly surprised. But Dumbledore merely walked around his desk to the two professors. 

            "Just a staff meeting Harry, I suggest you return to Gryffindor common room."

            Harry didn't fail to notice that Dumbledore did not meet his eyes as he said this and sparks of anger clouded Harry's vision. He barely heard Dumbledore take his leave and Lupin say "goodbye". When Harry finally composed himself, he found himself alone in the beautiful Headmaster's office. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_            ...The Nauseam Potion, or more commonly called the Pain Potion, was used in the late 1400s until the mid 1500s. It was utilized to torture enemies of the Dark Lord Curio for information up until Curio's death. The potion was banned in 1634 in the XLVII Wizard Convention, though it was still widely used and sold in underground black markets throughout __England__ and _Northern Europe___. _

_            In 1666 it was used in the assassination of the Minister of __Bulgaria__ while at a dinner reception. The event triggered a revival within __Bulgaria__ and surrounding countries to find and bring to justice those responsible. Such action brought the eventual elimination of the spell, partly assisted by the invention of the Avada Kedavra Curse. _

_            The Nauseam Potion affects each victim differently, but will kill all who consume it unless the proper antidote is taken. Pain in the stomach and chest are the most common precursors to death among victims. Slowly tightening the lungs and crushing of the stomach, the potion either suffocates the victim or they die of shear pain. The entire ordeal can last for three days, though usually victims are killed before then to ease their passing... _

_            1) Describe in detail the political and physical effects the Nauseam Potion has had upon history. _

_            2) List the ingredients and procedure used to create the Nauseam Potion in your own words. _

_            3) Explain three reasons—_

            Harry sat up and rubbed his eyes. He had fallen asleep atop his Potions book and the page was warm where his breath had been. 

            The common room was quite empty and deserted and Harry turned to look at the beaten grandfather clock that stood by and even older chessboard. It was 2:30 in the morning. Harry vaguely remembered coming back to the common room angry and flustered after his meeting with Dumbledore. He recalled not finding Ron or Hermione in the room of bustling students finishing their last minute homework. With no one to talk to, he had resigned himself to beginning his Potions essay. On Harry's lap lay the half finished essay, the black ink in stark contrast with the yellowing parchment. 

            The common room was bathed in the warm orange light of the roaring fireplace. Dark shadows gilded the walls with obscurity. Harry finished his essay twenty minutes later, his eyes itching and muscles aching. He was stricken with tiredness. He had not slept peacefully the entire week. He always felt that whenever he laid his head upon his pillow, it only stayed there for a minute at the most. Neville, Seamus, Dean, and Ron awoke refreshed and headed off to breakfast, but Harry always felt as it he was being constantly hit with a sledge hammer as his scar was hurting more than usual. 

            All week there had only been one thought consuming Harry's mind -- Sirius. Words could not explain the guilt and wretchedness he felt against himself. Harry felt like vomiting every time he thought of the hellish Purgatory, Sirius was in. Not being able to talk to anyone—your friends, family—as all people should be able to when they die. No, Sirius was standing upon some stone island surrounded by lost souls. He would be there forever unless Harry did something. Who else would do it? 

            Once this thought hit Harry, a wave of purest hatred and contempt swept through him. Bellatrix Lestrange. All he remembered of her appearance was her oily black hair and sunken in eyes, that and the infinite loathing and despair he had felt when she had killed the one person he loved most in the world. He recalled her triumphant cry as Sirius fell through the dark veil. He remembered how he had pulled out his wand and ran after her amid a flurry of protests from the Order members. Remembered how she made fun of his pathetic effort at using the Cruciatus Curse, her black eyes glittering maliciously—windows into her heartless core. 

            And now he had to kill her. It was the only thing to be done and he would have to be the one do it; there was no way around it. The problem remained, however, as to how he would go about avenging Sirius. He had no idea where Bellatrix Lestrange was or how he would kill a thoroughly trained Death Eater. True, he was in constant training with Lupin, Dumbledore, McGonagall, and even Mad-Eye Moody, who came to the castle twice a month to train Harry, Ron and Hermione, but he doubted if he was even a hair closer to her capabilities. All Harry knew was somehow he would kill her and send her to the Hell Sirius was in now. A natural death was too good for her. He would make sure that she suffered—suffer like he was suffering. He also thought of the day when he would have to kill Voldemort. He was the only one who could, of course, but that day would come later. Harry felt even more guilty that his own parents had been where Sirius was for sixteen years waiting for someone to kill their murderer—he was the only one who could do that also. Harry envisioned killing Voldemort with the Avada Kedavra Curse, just as he had done to Harry's parents and watching his white skeletal body fall to the ground in the ultimate defeat. The thought filled Harry with savage pride and ferocity. These new feelings startled and frightened him, though he would not admit it. It was not in his nature to hate so utterly and completely, but for someone like Voldemort or Bellatrix Lestrange, he could make an exception.

            He had not told anyone about what Sirius had showed him, not even Ron or Hermione. When they had asked Harry had been harsh with them and vehemently refused to discuss the matter. They had not mentioned it again.

            Harry was about to close his Potions book, cringing at the thought of another sleepless night staring at the canvas above his bed, when the sound of light feet coming from the stairway stopped him. Hermione appeared at the bottom of the steps, here hair tussled and stuck up on one side. Her chocolate eyes squinted against the firelight and she jumped back at the sight of Harry. 

            "Harry!" she said in surprise but smiling tiredly. "I didn't know you were awake. It's almost three! You should be in bed!" She put her hands on her hips and gave him a reproachful look. 

            Despite the fact that she was treating him like a naughty little 6 year old boy, Harry smiled. He was glad to see her. She always seemed to pull his mind back from his nightmares and worries. He couldn't fail to realize that she was wearing another nightgown—this one a pale green and much like her blue one. The linen collar was stretched from constant use and exposed her slender neck and shoulders. The light, thin material clung to her waist and stopped just before the knee. Harry suddenly became aware of how he must look, his uniform wrinkled, eyes blood-shot, hair...well the same. 

            "Just finishing Potion's," Harry replied as nonchalantly as he could while smoothing out his wrinkled dress shirt. 

            "The essay?" Hermione questioned, self-consciously folding her arms over herself. "Oh yes. I finished that last week. Want me to check...?"

            She had now sat down next to him and Harry turned away as her nightdress moved higher up her thigh. "No, that's alright. It's good—at least an 'E.'" Harry said hurriedly. He began to feel uncomfortable as he usually did these days when he was around her—like she was a stranger he knew very well. 

            "No! Let me check!" Hermione persisted, reaching across Harry and seizing his Potion's book where a sheaf of parchment peeked through the thick glossy pages. "I won't let you get an 'E' when you could get an 'O'."

            Harry made to grab it back, but his fingers touched Hermione's and Harry let go—a warm shock surging through his fingers. Hermione smiled and extracted his essay. She held it lightly in her slender fingers, but as she read her smile slowly faded. When her eyes passed over the final sentence she was frowning.

            "What? Not good?" Harry asked, throwing his arm over the back of the sofa, ready to make excuses. 

            "No," Hermione said, putting down the parchment. She turned to him grimacing, but Harry knew that she was really smiling. "It's too good. One day you'll be doing better than me."

            "I doubt that immensely," Harry smiled, taking back his parchment. "What are you doing here anyway? Harry asked yawning.

            Hermione moved to the edge of the sofa cushion and turned away. Harry brow furrowed. What was she doing here? Was she here to wait for Ron? Were they meeting late at night while everyone was asleep?

            Anger seemed to spring from his chest and his muscles tightened. 

            "I was looking for a book..." Hermione said getting up and walking around an armchair. 

            Harry gave her an incredulous look that she did not acknowledge for she had now moved to a dilapidated table and was peering under it for her book. Harry had never known Hermione to lie to him, but he was sure she was doing it now. 

            "Ah," Harry said carefully. 

            Hermione returned from her perusal of the common room a minute later.

            "Find it?" Harry asked as politely as he could.

            Hermione looked despairingly about the dark room, "No."

            "Well, I'm sure it'll turn up. Maybe Ron has it..." Harry said not meeting Hermione's eyes. 

            "Why would Ron have it? It's an Arithmancy book," Hermione said smiling. 

            "Oh," said Harry. His neck was beginning to feel warm around the collar. "Yes, well, you better get to bed then."

            "Aren't you going too?" Hermione said still looking about the room distractedly. 

            "No," said Harry. The thought had just occurred to him that if Ron came downstairs he would have his proof that his two best friends were getting together behind his back. He wasn't about to leave. Purpose in mind, he suddenly felt very awake. 

            "We have class tomorrow," Hermione reminded him sternly, finally looking at him. 

            "So why aren't you in bed?" said Harry reopening his Potions book in an attempt to looking busy. 

            "I am," Hermione stammered. "I just —" 

            "Just what?" said Harry looking up. 

            "I'm just not sleepy..." Hermione said taking a seat beside him and sinking into the scarlet cushion. 

            "Me neither," Harry said smiling slightly. He took a savage satisfaction in the discomfort he was causing Hermione. She was the one so keen on keeping Harry in the dark about her relationship with Ron, but now her boyfriend would appear any minute at the foot of the stairs. She would have some time thinking of an excuse for why he was there. "After all, two people don't just appear by coincidence in the same place at three o'clock in the morning," Harry thought smugly as he waited for his suspicions to be affirmed. 

            They sat in silence for a long time, both putting their feet on the battered old coffee table, Harry flipping the glossy pages of his book and Hermione folding her arms over her chest and peering about the room. Occasionally, she would say "You really should go to bed," or "You know, McGonagall said she would give you a detention if you fell asleep in class one more time."

           Whenever she said that, Harry would smile remembering the four different occasions the old professor had awoken him rudely. Harry had now learned to sleep with his eyes open, not that he fooled anyone. His breathing was quite different from his conscious classmates'. 

            Harry listened hard for Ron's footsteps in the stairwell, but none came. Finally, Hermione spoke.

            "Well, since neither one of us is sleepy, we might as well do something useful," she said standing up.

            Harry raised his eyebrows. "Like what?"

            "Oh, don't give me that look, Harry," Hermione said smiling and holding out her hand. "You know what I mean."

            Harry laughed, "I don't think I do..."

           When Harry did not take her hand, Hermione put them on her hips. "C'mon. You have been avoiding it ever since the last D.A. meeting. I don't know why but you are."

            "Which is...?" Harry said standing up and setting down his book. He really had no idea what Hermione was talking about. But somewhere in his brain a cold fear surfaced. She knew that Harry knew. She was going to tell him now—tell him about her and Ron. 

            Somehow he didn't want to hear it. If she said it than it would all be true. He couldn't stand it if it were true. He couldn't hear it from her...

            But Hermione surprised him as she sometimes did. "The dancing lessons. You've been avoiding them. I don't know why since you were the one who asked for them."

            Harry sighed slightly and tried not to show the relief on his face. "Oh that," he said weakly. "I was just kidding about that. We don't have to do it..."

            Hermione raised her eyebrows in the same way Harry did. "Oh yes we do! I'm not letting you look like an idiot out there like you were last year! You are learning to dance!" 

            Harry stared at her for a moment, and then gave her a look of mock offense. "Nice. I'll have you know that Parvati said I danced _wonderfully_!"

            "Parvati could do with some dancing lessons too," Hermione retorted, but she was smiling. "Now you are going to dance with me. It's your turn to be embarrassed. I know you've been laughing at me every time I try and change direction on a broom!"

            "Well, it's kind of hard not to," Harry mumbled.

            "What's that?" said Hermione sharply. 

            "Nothing," said Harry giving his most charming smile, "but we aren't supposed to leave the common room so late at night, surely a prefect like yourself wouldn't want to break the rules?"

            "Who says we have to go to the Animagus classroom? We can have it right here," said Hermione pushing the coffee table away from the fireplace with her bare foot. 

            Harry was about to reply, "What if Ron comes?" but it came out as "There isn't any music."

            Hermione smiled and produced her wand from nowhere Harry could of guessed, being that she was wearing just a gown. She raised it slowly and said, _"Arianso!"_

            A bead of electric blue light burst from her wand which turned into long strings of glowing blue light that wove together towards the candle-laden chandelier. A soft melody slowly filled Harry's ears which grew louder and louder. It was the sound of a slow waltz, full of sweet violins and deep, harmonizing cellos. The song was like none Harry had ever heard. It was eerily beautiful like a phoenix song and Harry's heart felt a little lighter.

            "Nice, huh?" said Hermione closely watching his face and smiling. "It should be a good song to start you off with." The beautiful blue strands had disappeared but the music continued on beautifully and loudly. It felt as if the musicians were right next to Harry and Hermione—as though they were dancing on a fire lit dance floor right next to a bandstand. 

            "It's a bit loud," Harry said worriedly, turning to the stairway as though expecting to see the entire school watching his every move with his best friend's girlfriend. 

            "Only we can hear it," Hermione said next to his ear. 

            Harry jumped. He had not realized that Hermione was now standing next to him. 

            "Right," said Harry, trying to stop the excitement and nervousness in his voice from being heard, making his vocal chords emit a deeper tone. That was odd, for Harry's voice usually got higher when he was nervous. 

            They stood silently for a moment, Harry looking anywhere but Hermione and Hermione looking at her feet. 

            "You might want to take off your shoes. I don't want you crushing mine," she said. Her voice was softer than normal—not softer as though he could not hear her—but kind and gentle sounding. It wasn't taunting or laughing, but warm, tender, and lower than usual.

            Harry removed his shoes and socks quickly and placed them on the floor. When he turned back to Hermione, she was holding out her hand again. The fire bathed it in warm light and Harry took it feeling a chill run up his arm. His heart began to beat faster. 

            "The first thing is how to hold your—er—partner." Hermione said, looking him in the face. Her eyes seemed, to Harry, to be shining very brightly and he found the familiar comfort and warmth in them. 

            Hermione entwined her fingers with his and Harry felt as if his hands had always belonged there. She then directed his left hand to her waist and she placed her right hand upon his shoulder. Harry tightened. Though there was about two feet between them, Harry was trying his best to hold her as far away as possible, he felt awkward with his hand upon her waist as though if he held her tighter she might collapse. 

            "Now, I'll just teach you the basic waltz steps," Hermione said looking down at their bare feet on the shag carpet. "Move your right foot forward..."

            Harry did and Hermione moved her left back.

            "Then bring your left to meet it," Hermione directed, squeezing his hand as if she believed this would guide his foot to the desired position. 

            Harry obeyed while Hermione did the opposite. 

            "Then move your left foot to the side,"

            Harry did and Hermione's right foot followed.

            "Right foot back..."

            Harry moved and Hermione's left foot countered.

            "Now cross your left foot behind your right..."

            Harry crossed, but lost his balance in the process. Hermione caught him by the elbow, laughing. 

            "I never knew anyone who could mess up a simple box step," she giggled releasing him. 

            Harry threw her a scowl but changed it to a smile. "I'm doing my best!" he protested.

            "I know you are," Hermione said kindly. "C'mon lets try again." Harry retook her hand and held her more tightly around the waist, feeling the slight curve of her back through her sheer gown. Together they moved back to the center of the floor in front of the fire's grate. 

            Harry finally got the box step right and on the 18th time he finally looked up, confident that his feet could move to the right positions without his eyes' supervision. 

            "Hey! I'm getting quite good," Harry smiled, looking down at Hermione, who was watching his feet carefully. She turned her head upwards, giving him a amused smile. 

            "It's only a box step. Don't get carried away," she chided.

            "I'm not, but I'm getting there you have to admit. Though I don't want to be _really_ good –,"

            "Why not?" said Hermione, surprised, letting Harry lead her slowly about the room. 

            "Well, real men shouldn't be able to dance well. It might look—,"

            Hermione's laugh covered his words and Harry smiled, watching her eyes close in amusement.             "That's sounds like something Ron would say. There is nothing wrong with a man learning to dance and I'll make sure you can before the Yule Ball, whether you want to or not!"

            Hermione soon deemed him acceptable with the box step and moved on to something she called the "Question Mark." It was a bit more difficult and required more work out of Harry. By the time he had accomplished it, he noticed with a start that he was no longer holding Hermione at arm's length. She was now pressed delicately against him. Her bust graced against his chest. Harry was suddenly very aware of her slender hips, under his firm grip. She was close enough that she could have rested her head on his shoulder if she chose to. 

            It was on his 21st time of the "Question Mark" when Hermione finally spoke. 

            She lifted her head to his but instead of the beautiful, laughing eyes Harry had been gazing into all night; he found steady and serious ones. 

            "Something's is bothering you, I know it," she said clearly but still in the same low voice. Her hands tightened on his shoulder and hand. 

            "What you mean?" Harry said looking down to his feet where his left foot was crossing over his right.    "You know, what I mean… You haven't been yourself for a long time…. I'm not exactly sure when it all started…. Sirius's death is obviously a big part of it—,"

            Harry cringed. His hated hearing his godfather was dead when he had just spoken to him a week ago. And hearing Hermione say it— 

            _"Hermione knows what is right,"_—that is what Sirius had said. Things always seemed more real when she was with him. Why did she have to make things so real?

            "—and now with you seeing him again you are acting even stranger. I knew if we summoned him to talk to you, you would just end up hurt..."

            She trailed off and Harry looked back at her. Her eyes were glowing brightly and Harry felt his heart skip a beat. She was worried about him, worried that he not himself—which was true. He had felt as if he had been floating outside his body ever since the moment Sirius had fallen through the veil; felt that he was vaguely a part of the outside world but oddly disconnected. 

"None of them know—not even Hermione or Ron—what it is like to see the person you love most die in front of you, to have Voldemort posses you, to find you had been kept in the dark to by the one person you thought you could trust, to learn that your life has already been decided...No. No one knows what that it's like. How could they _possibly _understand!?" Harry thought despairingly, his shoulders tensing under Hermione's grip. 

"Tell me what happened," Hermione said her voice low and soft.

            Harry grappled with his instincts. He had been bottled up for so long… so long since he had had anyone to truly talk to, anyone to confide in, and anyone to trust.... 

            Suddenly his mind cleared. His calm thought from Occlumency had just risen to the surface of mind. He could see Hermione's eyes, ablaze with understanding. "Hermione. Hermione– if anyone comes close to understanding… it's her – _'She so cares for you_ –," echoed Sirius's voice.

            Harry closed his eyes tightly, sighing inwardly.

            "Besides, it's probably better that they know about Sirius. I couldn't stand another day with them looking at me worriedly whenever they think I'm not looking," Harry resolved, promising also that he would not mention anything about the prophecy.

            Harry suddenly felt her gently lay her cheek against his shoulder. He felt another cold tingle run up his neck and found that he could tell her. 

            He told her everything from exactly how Sirius died, for she had never heard the full account from Harry, to what Sirius showed him in the afterlife. When he reached the part about avenging Sirius, Hermione gave an almost inaudible gasp and her eyes grew even brighter. 

            As he spoke, they swayed slowly in the warm glow of the fire, their bare feet catching on the soft rug below, not bothering with the steps of the waltz. The music seemed to hum softer to better hear Harry's voice. The sweet harmonies encircled them adding to Harry's strength along with Hermione's warm hand in his palm.

            He forgot about Ron and what he would say, forgot about Dumbledore's aloofness, forgot about avenging Sirius, and the prophecy. And though he was talking about these very same things with Hermione—things that made him hit his pillow in anger every night—he felt calm and relieved to be finally shifting some of the burden from his shoulders to her own strong shoulders—shoulders that have borne their own share of burdens as well.

            When Harry finished, Hermione said nothing for a while, keeping her head against his shoulder. They moved in slow circles as the distant grandfather clock struck five. Only when Harry felt something wet on his shirt did Hermione finally look up. A single tear rolled from one of her chocolate brown eyes, slowly making its way down her cheek.

            Harry's heart turned over and he stopped their slow circle around the floor. He quietly took her face in his hands as if she were porcelain too beautiful to break. 

            Hermione trembled under his touch as his thumb moved slowly to her cheek and wiped away the tear that resided there. Another finger brushed her lips and her eyes went wide—wide with anticipation, disbelief, wonder, fear, excitement, and something she said she would never feel for him but was always and undeniably there. 

            Harry saw her red lips trembling and suddenly felt compelled to make them stop. He wanted to hold her, to comfort her, to tell her that it was his problem, and she shouldn't worry on it. He wanted to tell her how important she was to him; how much he—

            Harry's mind was spinning with too many emotions, mixing in with too many fears – until he couldn't tell one from the other. All he knew was that the only constant thing in the spinning, topsy-turvy room was Hermione's face. Her face –full of compassion and wonder; compassion Harry knew was for him and so much wanted to return. For the first time in his life Harry felt totally and completely out of control, but somehow deep down he knew he wouldn't have it any other way.

            It wasn't like how the prophecy dominated his very future, or how he couldn't stop Sirius dying. This was different—this was by his own accord. This was out of his control and he chose it to be that way. 

            "Hermione is doing this to me," Harry realized as another tear fell onto his awaiting finger. She made things so real to him, but yet when he was with her—he was in his own reality, a reality he only shared with Hermione. 

            Underneath the numbness his mind had created as a callous against his emotions, Harry felt for the first time a clear and distinct feeling, something he thought he would never feel for anyone again—and yet he was—for his best friend...

            Harry's mind searched wildly for a word.

            It was not like how he loved Sirius or Ron or his parents. It was not the yearning he had felt for Cho. It was something completely new on its own and as he stood there holding Hermione's face in his hands he knew exactly what it was. He knew.

            But then... the prophecy 

            Harry slowly let his hands drop, wiping away a last tear, and feeling every last centimeter of her soft skin slid through his fingers. Her pupils contracted, tears still shining in her eyes. Harry removed a handkerchief he had received from Hagrid on his birthday from his pant's pocket. It was embroidered with tiny dragons and Blast-Ended-Skrewts. He handed it to Hermione.

            She took it vaguely as though she didn't understand what Harry was doing and she slowly wiped her eyes.

There was no need for words nor were any words possible. Harry always seemed to know what Hermione was trying to say so she never had to say it. Harry needed to think. He felt that if he spent another minute with Hermione he might do something drastic.  

            "It's already five," Harry said gesturing towards the clock.

            Hermione turned. It was now 5:02. 

            Harry picked up his books and slipped on his shoes.

            They stood there for a moment, Harry holding his books and Hermione smoothing out her green nightgown. Together they walked to the stairwell in silence until they reached the fork where Hermione would go to the girl's dormitories. 

            "You're getting better," she said. Harry didn't need to ask what she was talking about. "We can work on it tomorrow if you like,"

            "That'd be fine," said Harry a bit awkwardly. "It was a good lesson."

            "Yes, it was," Hermione said giving him a soft smile Harry only saw her use on rare occasions. She walked to him and Harry's heart began to beat faster again, leaving, he was sure, a violent indentation on his ribs. 

            "Thanks for telling me," she said and she placed the handkerchief upon his books. 

            Harry nodded and Hermione turned away. He watched her go, as her soft footsteps echoed in the silent stairwell. When he heard a distant door open and then shut, Harry finally turned and climbed up to his own dormitory. It was quiet and washed in darkness. Neville was snoring happily, Seamus was drooling slightly, and Dean was cradling his pillow tightly. 

            Ron was in his bed, clearly asleep, one arm dangling over his mattress.

            Harry slowly put down his books and undressed. Only when he was pulling apart his bed hanging did he find that he was still holding his handkerchief. It was still wet with Hermione's tears. Harry folded it carefully and placed it on his nightstand, but then retook it feeling the slight bumps where the thread wove through the delicate linen. He kept it in his hand and fell asleep. 

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Sorry this chapter is so short. I would have written more but it was so long ago when I last updated. It's almost 6,000 words, so not so bad. I apologize for its lateness, however. A lot of reviewers have asked me are Ron and Hermione really a thing, going out, hooked up...Well the answer is you will have to wait. You can't expect me to give away something like that. Where would the suspense go?! Anyway, look at the summary for my story...do you know what category it's in? I will not betray all my loyal shippers but as to how H/Hr will come about, if it does...well you will have to wait. Sorry! And I will not abandon this fanfic! **I promise!**

Thanks to all of you who have reviewed, they mean so much to me. Please don't stop them. ~Michelle AD


	15. Complications

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters mentioned in this fanfiction. Harry Potter and all characters from the Harry Potter Series are property of J.K. Rowling.

**New Beginnings**

**Chapter Fifteen: Complications**

Hermione sat with one leg tucked carefully under her. Her skirt fanned out around her waist, creased and flattened where a heavy tome lay upon her lap. It was so customary to see Hermione this way, a book on her lap, her hair falling around her neck while she read into the night, that no one bothered to look in her direction. Occasionally she would get up to correct some mischief caused by Fred and George's successors, but for the most part she stayed in this state everyday, turning the waxy leaves of her books. 

            Harry had never noticed this before, but now it seemed impossible not to notice. Every hand gesture, every turn of the page, every time she tucked her hair behind one ear only for it to fall from its place a moment later, he paid attention to. He noticed how her one hanging foot brushed the carpet and how her lips stuck out in just the faintest of pouts when she didn't understand the words of her book.

            He came to memorize her smiles, her frowns, her laughter. There were moments when she would tilt her head at a certain angle or scowl at him for delaying his homework or laugh for no particular reason—Harry loved these moments. He looked for her in hallways—he had never done that before. He made sure the rowdy 3rd years were quiet so she could work peacefully—he had never done that before. And he always tried to sit next to her, though that was sometimes a problem. Ron usually was just as firm about the seating arrangements as he was. 

            Ron was sitting with her now, on the floor by her dangling leg. He was crouched over a pile of books and a smaller pile of parchment paper. Harry sat in his favorite armchair by the fire. Harry liked the seat very much with its comfortable heat and good light but he felt restless now. Harry always did his best thinking under that fireplace, in that chair and he sporadically liked to look up at the intricate pine mantle. It looked so ancient that Ron thought it should have been replaced long ago. Names and dates were etched into its soft wood. Some names were encircled by a heart while others proclaimed gossip from the eighties, seventies, sixties, fifties, and onward. The oldest date Harry had found was by Ross Clemens in 1927. It was etched over by Lauren '88. It was a memorial, a testament to the graduates, to the couples who had called the Gryffindor Tower home. No, it couldn't be replaced. Its history and ageless beauty give Harry a sense of calm. He could sense the joy and the sorrow, the fights and the make-ups of all the lives that lived there. 

Years beyond counting were like weights on the cold spread of English earth the castle was built on. Centuries ago, perhaps, the Founders had used this room. Perhaps Gryffindor oversaw the upholsteries and furniture placed in the room, all in his signature crimson and gold. Then they were all new and faultless; the gray stones that lined the walls were newly scoured and washed. Now traces of mold filled in the cracks of those same stones; the furniture broken, beaten, and worn. 

            The fireplace had special purpose to Harry, it always had since his 1st year. Below the carved griffin that was the center of the mantle were two names written into its wings and like so many others, circled by one heart. _Lily and James 1978._His father's writing was clear and distinct while his mother's was a bit shaky and a bit fainter. Harry supposed James had gotten a bit of practice in carving from other such engravings as _Sirius, James, Remus, and Peter: PoAMMM~'75 _anda strange one proclaiming _Make sure it sinks deep, James. _It was written in Sirius' burly hand and Harry assumed it was some inside joke. He often thought about what it meant. His thoughts usually lead him back to Sirius and consequently back to where Sirius was: the afterlife. Harry would then look up at his parents' engraving and find, at least, temporary calm. 

            The truth was, however, that besides Hermione, the only other thing Harry thought about was avenging his parents. He had dreams of killing Voldemort and Bella Lestrange and seeing his parents' and Sirius' jubilant spirits float to the sky, to peace.

More often, though, he had nightmares where he failed. Failed at everything—failed at killing Bella and Voldemort and fell into a black void where cold fear and shame gripped him like a falcon on its prey. When he awoke, he awoke with a feeling of loss, though not knowing exactly what he lost. 

            It was all very confusing and depressing and Harry would have liked some escape from it all. He was using Fred and George's Skiving Snackboxes every week now, blessing the few precious hours he spent in the Hospital wing sleeping with the aid of Madame Pomfrey's Dreamless Sleep potion. His constant headaches had become steadily worse since Halloween. It felt as if a dull knife was slowly grinding into his skull. Then one day, while he was reading up on Victamoria plants, he came upon a treatment for them. It supposedly had side effects, not that Harry cared. He used the spell three times a day and enjoyed the primitive numbness it brought to his brain, allowing him to concentrate on his school work which had been thoroughly neglected. He found the more he used it the happier he became. He had used it five times just today. Harry never did it around Ron or Hermione. The spell gave off a very distinctive blood red light when it was first cast and he was sure Hermione would have something to say about him casting anything on his own body. It also placated his immense frustration at Dumbledore and the teachers. He had stayed behind after every Defense Against the Dark Arts class and every Transfiguration lesson since his last Occlumency lesson. He pressed them both with questions about Voldemort, the Death Eaters, on Kingsley. But it was all to no avail. 

Questioning McGonagall was like trying to question a doorknob. It forcibly reminded him of his Aunt Petunia and the strange Howler more than a year ago. That only irritated him further. He expected better from Lupin, but felt betrayed every time Lupin refused to inform him on anything. He didn't actually refuse, he just changed the subject clumsily or excused himself to a meeting or to dinner or to lunch or he had to see whether Hagrid or Madame Pomfrey needed his advice or he needed to go get his Wolfsbane Potion from Snape. He had a million excuses that flew out of his mouth like a fountain. In lessons he always gave Harry an "I'm-so-sorry look." He also seemed to grade Harry's papers a bit more generously than he did the others; at least that's what Ron had thought. Harry couldn't understand this either.

            It had been four months since the Ministry admitted Voldemort had returned. Strangely, though, nothing appeared in the paper. The Prophet reported no disappearances, no murders, no catastrophic events. Voldemort's return was now 3rd page news. It was beaten out by Gilderoy Lockhart's release from St. Mungo's.

            It was all very strange and outrageous. He would have liked to know what Lupin thought about all this or Mad-Eye Moody or even Snape. He craved information. He would have begged for information if there had been someone to beg from. He would have loved to ask Sirius about it, but Halloween was a year away; but even more so, he never wanted to see that tired, ghostly image of Sirius again, no matter how much he loved him or how much he wanted information. 

            Dumbledore's message was clear, though it was cloaked in Harry's suspicions like black a gauze. Yes, it was very clear. Stick to your training. That was the message and why Harry couldn't get his questions answered. Stick to your training. Go to your lessons. Work hard. Practice. Practice. Practice! 

A whole lot of help practice was when Harry was insane with lack of news. He couldn't understand it. Shouldn't they be telling Harry everything? Their plans? Their intelligence? Anything? Hadn't they learned the terrible consequences of keeping someone in the dark? Did they think Sirius' death was not a big enough reason to include him?

The very thought made Harry so sick that not even his headache spell could cure him. He tried to focus on other things. And that thing was Hermione. 

Harry looked back to where she sat. She was slowly spinning her quill in circles as it hovered above her hand. The feathers moved gracefully in the slight draft that flowed through the room. 

It had been a week since they're first dancing lesson and Harry admitted something had happened. He realized he felt something for her; something he felt had been there a long time. All the emotion he had for her, whatever they were, had been shaken up and then exploded. He couldn't deny that he loved seeing her, liked being close to her, enjoyed hearing her voice…

But nothing had changed. Hermione still was the same Hermione. She talked normally with Harry and Ron. She did her homework. She acted like the scene down in the common room when she cried on his shoulder had never happened.

The only thing that had changed since last week was the occasional secret glances they shared. 

They had dancing lessons at least twice a week, but the dancing was not what made Harry excited a lesson grew closer. 

They talked while they danced about almost anything and everything. Harry learned about Hermione's childhood full of rich and funny stories. Harry tried hard to suppress his jealousy, but he enjoyed hearing them nonetheless. 

She had had an older brother that died in a car crash when he was twelve. Hermione was born after he died so they had never known each other. She also had an uncle who owned a farm close on the border with Scotland. It was her uncle that Hermione talked the most about. She talked so much about him that Harry couldn't believe she had never mentioned him before. 

Uncle Peter, for that was his name, taught Hermione about everything she loved. He was a wise old professor that "used to work at Cambridge," Hermione had said with pride. The two spent summers together in the dark library, where Hermione educated about the wonder of books and learning. Harry often imagined a little 5 year-old Hermione curled up on the lap of kind-faced old man while he held large novels in front of her for them both to read. 

Hermione's wizard blood supposedly came from her uncle's ancestors. He was one of the few people in Hermione's family that knew she was a witch. 

"All we ever seem to do is talk about my family and my life," Hermione had said one meeting. 

Harry's left foot moved forward and he turned her gracefully to the left. They were dancing a fast gavotte. 

"You wouldn't want to hear about mine," Harry said putting on a smile. "Just imagine the worst childhood ever and multiply by five."

Hermione looked down. Silence fell between them as they kept time with the music. Their shoes echoed on the cold wood floor of the Animagus classroom. The great golden hearth was ablaze with orange fire that flickered and danced over the great portrait of a lion. 

"No, I'd like to know," Hermione said not looking up but she closed the space between them and locked her arms behind his neck.

So Harry told her as far back as he remembered. He recounted to her the abuse he suffered, the ridicule, the neglect and tried to make it out as some big joke—as though his childhood belonged to someone else and not him. He didn't want Hermione to pity him. 

But she didn't pity him. She never said, "That's horrible!" or "how could they?" or "I'm so sorry!" She merely asked him to tell her another story, her beautiful eyes never leaving his face. Every lesson ended with them forgetting they were supposed to be memorizing the steps of a waltz, polka, gavotte, or slow sarabande and with Hermione's head on his shoulder. Harry never remembered how it got there and Hermione never mentioned it either.

Harry was beginning to notice more and more the growing closeness he shared with her. If he could name a time when it had first started it would have been in 4th year at Kings Cross when she had kissed his cheek. He had been rather mystified by that and thought about it from time to time. He dismissed it last year, however, when he saw Hermione kiss Ron before their first Quidditch match. Maybe she thought nothing of kissing her best friends goodbye or good luck. _Really, it was nothing special_. 

Then there was this year. He could almost recall every time she grabbed his arm or hit is shoulder—but there had been other things—like when she had held his hand in the horse-less carriage on the way to Hogwarts, or when she leaned her head on his shoulder the day it was announced he was Quidditch captain. Or how about the time when he held her hands during their first flying lesson? Harry always liked that memory, though he was sure seeing Hermione's hair in a giant ball of electricity had something to do with it. And then there was the scene in the common room for their first dancing lesson. When Harry had felt…when he had felt he could almost…but that was impossible. He didn't feel like doing that. Did he? 

Harry admitted he liked her on some level. Of course he did—but did he want to do that. To kiss her? To tell her he liked her more than just a best friend…did he want to do all the things that went along with that? Harry had to be truthful with himself—yes he did, well with Hermione anyway. 

No matter how you looked at it, Harry was scared. Scared for himself—he had never truly had feelings for someone like the feelings he had for Hermione. He was scared for her—What would people say if they found out—all those magazines and newspapers would be right about them.  And Ron! What would Ron do? Why did he have to be Hermione's boyfriend? He would feel much less guilty about liking Hermione if Hermione were anyone else's girlfriend. 

Then of course the Prophecy… Harry had lost the person he loved most in the world because of that Prophecy. He would kill himself if Hermione was ever hurt on his account… That prophecy. There was no guarantee that Harry would survive the ultimate battle between him and Voldemort that would eventually come. There was a very slim chance…Harry is just sixteen. A sixteen-year-old against the greatest Dark wizard in history? Harry couldn't be with Hermione when Voldemort would do anything to kill him, to get to him, to make him hurt. That's why it was so wrong to like Hermione—so very, very, very wrong. Harry wouldn't admit his love for her as long as that threat remained. No force on Earth would make him. 

When a lesson ended, one of them went to the common room and another somewhere else. They both did this unconsciously because each knew that it wouldn't be wise to appear in the common room together after a long absence. Harry usually went to the Quidditch field to construct new plays or Hermione went to the library. Ron always asked where he had been and Harry never hesitated to create half-lies. He didn't feel even a twinge of guilt to his conscious. Since Ron was lying about such a big thing as dating Hermione, he could certainly lie about a little thing like a dancing lesson. 

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            The early days of November passed swiftly. The leaves of the towering birch trees that had not been loosened by October's chill were certainly defeated by November's sharp wind. The green knolls of chilled grass were slowly covered by a blanket of brown leaves. The sky filled with silent birds heading south to France and Spain leaving their homes in hopes that the sweet nectars of the South could hold them until winter. The white snow toppings on the gray mountains that surrounded Hogwarts began to grow in size and the sky became a blank canvas of clouds.

            All of Hogwarts Castle and the Forbidden Forest settled into its pre-dormant mode, waiting for the first snow to fall upon the verdant hills and initiate the long winter. 

            Inside, however, things were anything but dormant. Homework was beginning to become a burden for the first time that year. Potions was expected to be hard, but now Harry's class were conjuring potions so difficult that not even Draco's was exactly perfect. Only Hermione received a perfect score. In Defense Against the Dark Arts Harry and Hermione took their first steps towards becoming Aurors. They first learned how to become invisible without an invisibility cloak. It was a complicated spell that took weeks of practice for Harry to accomplish. He often wondered if that was what Dumbledore meant when he didn't need a cloak to become invisible.  

In Transfiguration they began a technique call Anatomy Amendments and Additions. It was just a fancy name for transfiguring parts of your body to become stronger or different looking. It started easy enough. Harry could transfigure his head so he would be bald or shrink his feet so they could fit in his shoes from five years ago (it wasn't a good idea, for the rest of his body was still 16 and wouldn't balance on the feet of an 11 year old). 

            Building muscle mass or lengthening your bones was much harder. Hermione tried vainly to lengthen her short frame in order to look, or get close to looking Harry and Ron in the eyes. It produced little result though McGonagall said it was rare anyone could do that in their 6th year. Harry wondered if he should reshape is eyeballs so he would no longer need his glasses. He liked the idea of not worrying about his glasses falling off in a Quidditch match, but thought better of it. His glasses had been with him so long he couldn't think about parting with them. 

In Charms they were learning a wide variety of medical charms including a particularly scary one that could stop a person's heart from beating. Professor Flitwick said that one should only be used in self-defense but Harry didn't like the way Draco grinned when he learned the spell. Harry and the others in Care for Magical Creatures continued to study Hippogriffs and their powers.  

            Harry began to look forward to his Animagus lessons now that he had finally chosen a form. He had learned tons on griffins in the past few weeks and was excited to try his first transformation. Harry first had to decide what feature he would like took keep of himself that would not change during the transformation. He decided to keep his green eyes and pray his scar would disappear like it hadn't when he Metamorphasized. 

            The DA lessons went on despite the growing amount of homework. Lessons mainly consisted of learning new spells and putting them to use in dueling. They had short dueling matches at the end of lesson, this time divided into grades. Harry or Hermione were always victorious above the other 6th years. 

            The most noticeable difference in the castle, however, was not the freezing winds that began to enter through the tall, stone Gothic windows, but the drawing advent of the Yule Ball. Giggling girls could be seen roaming the halls like packs of ravenous wolves—young eligible boys their prey. The teachers were finding it harder to retain their class' focus, as much of the female population was occupied  in sharing beauty tips and describing their dress robes. The men took a slightly less enthusiastic approach towards the ever-closer Yule Ball. Boys with girlfriends were at considerable ease, not having to worry about finding a date—but those without a sure companion began to feel the first pangs of nervousness in the pits of their stomachs.

            Harry was no different. He first considered not attending at all—he was sure he would find any date unenjoyable. The only person he would like to ask was Hermione. Would Ron and Hermione pretend they aren't a couple and go separately or would they announce their relationship under the eyes of the entire school? Either way, he couldn't ask Hermione like he wanted to. He wouldn't even know how to go about it. He could just say they could go as friends…would Hermione buy that? Does she want a real date that will dance with her, get her punch, and stroll through the rose gardens with her? And Ron would be furious with him, even if he did believe Harry knew nothing of their relationship. 

            No he couldn't ask Hermione—well maybe if she asked him!

            But no, that was absurd. She has a boyfriend—I'm just her _best friend_. Harry was beginning to hate that word. He had used to cherish it so much. 

            He would have to find another date and certainly there was no shortage there. Harry liked to think he was a normal student at Hogwarts, but the fact was, being the Gryffindor Quidditch captain on top of being Harry Potter was enough for the younger girls to go weak in the knees. He had regained his status as one of the most popular people in the school whether he liked it or not—it also meant he would be receiving date proposals everyday. 

            His first was on November 27th. To his surprise it was a 7th year Hufflepuff, though she had the shyness of a 2nd year. Harry politely refused her saying he wasn't sure he was going and that he might be obligated already with someone else. She stalked off looking downcast and leaving Harry feeling like a jackass. She really was quite pretty. 

            Harry had hoped that, after 7 people asked him, the word would get around he was refusing all the invitations. _Girls never seemed to gossip when you want them to!_ Harry thought exasperatedly after the 8th girl he turned down stalked away. 

            But for the most part Harry's schedule remained quite perfunctory, despite the growing number of giggles and the laughing stares he got from across the Great Hall. Classes, homework, DA meetings, flying lessons, Quidditch practice, dancing lessons, homework, Occlumency, Animagus training, homework—it all went on in a blur and Harry couldn't believe it was already December 12, the week of the dance. 

            He was using his headache spell after every class now and before he went to bed. He began to understand how Uncle Vernon couldn't function without his coffee—it was the same with his spell. But underneath the happy exterior the spell painted on him, Harry was more depressed than he ever remembered being. It was probably just mounting stress for midterms, Harry always told himself. That, and he still didn't have a date—it didn't help that Hermione was so damn cheerful all the time around Ron. And then there was the _Daily Prophet_ seeming to be completely disregarding anything about Voldemort. Small articles on the last pages of its chronicle were the only evidence of the outbreak of panic in June. Harry became more nervous with each passing day—he rather preferred hearing about mass chaos and panic then hearing nothing at all. Voldemort was planning something so important he didn't have time to wreck havoc. What could he possibly be planning?

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            Harry awoke with a horrid gasp. He felt as if his chest was on fire. His throat was constricted as though someone was choking him. Harry gasped desperately for air like a drowning man. He leapt out of bed, ready to tell Ron to go fetch one of the teachers. He felt as though someone had flooded his lungs and windpipe with liquid metal that was quickly hardening. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't breathe. 

            He tripped over the water stand before he reached Ron's bed. Harry seized the pitcher and not bothering to get a glass, he poured the saving water down his throat. The burning was appeased some, but Harry couldn't swallow and he had to spit the water out. He was now shivering from the cold and still couldn't breathe. He could feel heat rising up his neck. His heart was beating wildly out of panic in its desperation for air. _I'm gonna die. I'm going to die!_

            Harry struggled towards Ron's bed, but stopped suddenly. His wand was against the pitcher stand. Reaching for it like an addict reaches for his drug, Harry performed his headache spell. Dark red light burst from his wand and struck his chest. 

            The pain receded immediately. Harry slumped down next to side of his bed. In a minute's passing, he felt perfectly normal again. 

            Harry smiled with relief. What a miracle this spell was! It had just saved his life. Harry took a few steadying breaths, amazed that he hadn't awoken anyone. He twirled his want in his long pale fingers—_why wasn't I able to breathe? That had never happened before._

            Harry put his hand to his heart. It sounded odd to Harry. Had it always sounded like that? It felt as if each beat were two little beats—a flutteringly weak heart. That was strange—it seemed normal before. It began to beat faster as Harry became fearful once again. 

            Harry looked at his wand. His spell; Harry vaguely remembered it saying it had side effects. Was his trouble breathing a side effect? Was his heart also?

           Harry crawled over to his trunk, feeling unprepared to stand. He riffled through his trunk for the book he had found the spell in. He was using it quite often for his Potions homework. 

_It's not here_ Harry thought desperately as he dug under his black knitted socks and _Quidditch through the Ages._

            Harry tentatively got up, still shivering and went out of the dormitory. All the school things that weren't in his trunk were propped against the hearth in the Gryffindor common room. The stone beneath Harry's feet was ice cold. He wished he had remembered his slippers, better yet his robe. But he couldn't go to back now; he had to know what was wrong with him. 

            He reached the soft carpeted floor of the common room, but it did little to warm him up. The chilly December wind penetrated through the thin cracks in the windows, making the room almost freezer-like. 

            Harry looked towards the hearth. As always, the fire was roaring, folding over itself like the wings of a flock of exotic birds. It was the only life amidst the cold death of December…

            Harry passed the couch and jumped back surprised. Hermione was there sleeping peacefully. Books were scattered all around her and a half-finished essay was lying at her feet. Harry tried hard to keep from laughing. That was how he and Ron had said goodnight to her. She was slumped over her books and barely noticed them bidding her goodnight. 

            Harry smiled and shook his head with warm affection for her. She could gripe at him all she wanted about not being dedicated to his school work, but at the end of the day she was like everyone else and buckled under the exhaustion of it all. 

            Harry tiptoed dexterously past her sleeping form and to the hearth. He lifted his Transfiguration book and extracted _Modern Medical Herbs and Their Usage in Spells._

            He moved slowly towards the fire. He would have to read it down here. He didn't want to risk waking one of his dorm mates by lighting a candle up there. He opened the book and it landed on page 89.

            "What are you doing here?" said Hermione's sleepy voice.

            Harry grimaced but then smiled as he turned to face her, pushing the book behind him. 

            Hermione returned a smile back to him and rubbed her eyes. She looked at him expectantly. 

            "Oh," said Harry quickly. He leaned behind an armchair which obstructed Hermione's view of him and grabbed his Transfiguration book and put it atop _Modern Medical Herbs and Their Usage in Spells._

"Just getting a book…" said Harry emerging from behind the chair. 

            "Oh, were you going to read?" Her eyes looked hopeful or perhaps Harry wanted them to. 

            Harry nodded slowly. 

            Hermione looked down and picked up her incomplete essay and moved several books from the couch to the floor. "Would you stay with me awhile?"

            Harry couldn't see her face. "Why?"

            Hermione looked up. "Because I still have to finish this and it's creepy down here all by myself!" She smiled. "So, will you?"

            "Sure," said Harry smiling. He took a seat next to her. Hermione moved two books to give him more room. 

            For awhile nothing was heard but the scratching of Hermione's quill as she wrote while Harry pretended to be immersed in Lesson 19 of his Transfiguration Book. Twenty minutes later, Hermione's quill gave one last victorious scratch. 

            "Done?" Harry asked. 

            "Yes, finally!" Hermione sighed. 

            She smiled and turned to him. 

            "So, are you going to go to bed now?" Harry asked scooting a bit from her. 

            "No, let's talk. We hardly ever talk."

            "What?" Harry laughed raising his eyebrows. "We talk all the time!"

            "Yes, but recently you've been quiet." Hermione said not laughing. 

            Harry's mind flashed back to the two previous dance lessons. He hadn't said much at all. His mind had been filled with Yule Ball complications, among other things. 

            "Oh, sorry," Harry said looking down. 

            "So what's on your mind?" 

            Harry groaned and spoke the truth. "Yule Ball…"

            "Oh," Hermione said softly. She paused and Harry looked towards her. 

            "Have you got a date?" Hermione said meeting his eyes.

            Harry's stomach gave a painful twist. "No," and then "Do you?"

            "No."

            Harry nodded. Several moments of loud silence followed. Harry felt as if he should say something though he wasn't sure what. Hermione spoke first. 

            "You _are_ going, right?"

            Harry laughed, "Of course! You're the one making me!"

            Hermione laughed too. "I was just kidding! You don't _have_ to go if you don't want to."

            Harry's eyes widened. What did she mean by that? Did she not want him to go? Did she…did she not want him to see her with Ron? But she said she didn't have a date…

            _Does she want me to ask her?_

            He took a different route. "Has anyone asked you?

            "Yes," she smiled. "Do you care?"

            "No, just give me their names and where they live…"

            Hermione laughed. "Well tons on tons of girls have asked you? How do you not have a date?!"

            "Maybe I don't want one."

            "You don't?" Hermione asked surprised. Her eyes were very wide, reflecting the golden light from the fire. 

            Harry cursed himself. Of course he wanted a date! He wanted her!

            "No, I mean the girl I want hasn't asked me yet…" Harry said fiddling with the waxy page of his Transfiguration book. 

            "Well, maybe you should ask! You are the guy, after all!" Hermione said.

            Harry tried to look into her eyes. They were unreadable. _Does she know I want her as my date?_

"Well, why haven't you said yes to anyone?" Harry implored. 

            "Because the right guy hasn't asked me."

            "Maybe you should ask him?" Harry said smiling charmingly. 

            "Maybe I should since he _obviously_ doesn't have the guts to ask me!"

            She laughed, but Harry didn't know if it was meant to be a joke. 

            Harry became serious, looking into her smiling face. "Who is thi—,"

            "Will you read to me?"

            "What?" said Harry taken aback. 

            "I haven't read Lesson 19 yet. Will you read it to me?"

            Harry sighed. He would just have to find out later. "Sure,"

            "Thank you," Hermione replied. She laid her finished essay and her book on the floor and scooted towards him. Harry tightened as they sat shoulder to shoulder. 

            He read for several minutes. Hermione's yawns became more and more frequent until she finally said, "Not so loud."

            Harry read on in a whisper until Hermione's head finally fell onto his shoulder and stayed there. He shook her to make sure was asleep, which she was. Here eyelashes fluttered in miniscule movements while she dreamed; her breathing was soft and quiet. 

            Harry carefully closed his Transfiguration book and slid it down his leg to the floor. He then finally opened _Modern Medical Herbs and Their Usage in Spells._

_            "Though the Spell of __Lesvos__ was banned from 1666-1724 it has recently remerged into the medical world as a…" _Harry skimmed ahead._ "It is known to have several side effects, though each recipient of the spell receives different complications. Among the more common side effects are vomiting, drowsiness, and muscle spasms. More serious side effects include hallucinations, cardiac complications, and seizure._

Harry's eyes widened. He certainly did not remember reading that. He skimmed the page further but it mentioned nothing on breathing problems or anything related to it. 

            Harry sighed with relief that whatever had happened to him was not result of the spell.

            _But really, I should stop using the spell if it causes hallucinations and what not, _Harry thought sleepily as he slid _Modern Medical Herbs and Their Usage in Spells_ to the ground. 

            Hermione was sill sleeping peacefully upon his shoulder. He touched her tawny curls, amazed at how perfect they were. It was the last thought he had before he gently placed Hermione's head on his lap and let his own exhaustion over take him. He would ask Hermione about the mystery guy in the morning. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

            Harry woke when the first rays of December light drifted into the common room. A lark cried off in the distance, waking its forest counterparts for a new day of hunting, foraging, and hiding. 

            The light was oddly white and as Harry looked down he saw that Hermione's and his own skin looked extremely pale. There was a bite to the air and Harry knew what it must be. It was snow—the first of the season. 

            _Finally,_ Harry thought. He was beginning to think there would be no snow on Christmas, just dead coldness. 

            He looked back down at Hermione. Her head was still laying upon his lap with her legs tucked tight to herself. She must have been freezing since she was still wearing her uniform skirt. 

            Harry seized the blanket that was always draped over the couch and laid it over Hermione. She clutched at its warmth like a child and Harry smiled. She should be fine now. 

            Harry slowly and gently began to move his legs from under head. He tenderly cradled her head in his hands and extricated himself from her.            

            Harry was about to put down her head when she stopped him. 

            "No. Stay," she said. Her lips barely moved at all. 

            Harry sighed. They really needed to get up. The early-risers would be up any minute and find it odd the two of them were asleep on the couch.       

            "Hermione," he said, shaking her gently. "We have to get up. I've got to get dressed and classes will start soon!"            

            Harry shivered. It was quite cold and he was only wearing his pajamas. 

            Hermione got up slowly and clutched the blanket around her shoulders.         

            "Did you give me this?" Hermione asked. She was looking him in the eyes though she was obviously still very tired.        

            Harry nodded. 

            Hermione stared at him for a moment. Then she moved to him and leaned her head against his chest. "Thank you,"

            "No problem," Harry said as nonchalantly as he could. He hoped Hermione could not hear his heart pounding so fast in his chest. They lay in silence for several moments and Harry laid his face in her curls, enjoying the sweet smell that was uniquely her. 

            The sun had completely risen when Harry felt it really was time to go. 

            "Hermione?"

            "Hmm?" she said getting up and smoothing her hair.

            Harry gave a small sigh of relief as though he had been holding his breath the entire time her head had been on his chest. It had, however, been only two minutes at the most. 

            Hermione was about to stand up when Harry stopped her. He grabbed her hand and held it tight. It was very cold and Harry grasped it tighter to give her some of his warmth. "This guy you want to ask you…" Harry said softly. "Who is he?"

            Hermione looked up, surprised. "Don't you know?" Here eyebrows knitted into a knot of puzzlement. 

            "Well I…"

            A sound came from the boy's staircase—the unmistakable sound of footsteps on stone steps. Ron appeared at the foot of the stairs and spotted them instantly across the room on the couch. 

            Harry turned to push Hermione away from him, but she was already on the other side of the couch picking up the books that were strewn around on the floor. 

            Ron walked over, taking in Hermione in her wrinkled blouse and skirt and Harry in his pajamas, the books on the floor, the blanket, and the burnt out fire that was now white ash. 

            "There you are Harry. I was wondering where you ran off to." Ron said easily. He seemed either to not notice the peculiarity of the scene, or he did not care. "You're here too, Hermione? Good."

            Hermione stood cradling ten books in her arms and Ron walked to her in a gesture to help her. 

            "I was meaning to ask you something," he said. 

            Harry sat up a little and stared from Ron to Hermione. He clenched the blanket that was now on the couch where Hermione had left it. Hermione didn't seem to notice anything. Ron was smiling as he took three books off her stack. 

            "The Ball's a week away," Ron continued. "Do you want to go with me?"

            Hermione looked up. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sigh, yes I know, cliffhanger. It feels like it has taken forever to come to this point in the story. I was originally just planning to make this story like 8 chapters or something! And here I am on chapter 15. I loved writing this chapter and I'm sorry it has taken so long. I've said this too many times. I can't make promises, but when I have time, I write as much as I can. It's Spring Break now, for me. So I hope to be well into another long chapter by the end of it. The Yule Ball is in the next chapter!! I'm so excited. And what will Hermione's answer be? You'll have to wait and find out! I hope you enjoyed this chapter. E-mail me if you have any questions and please review as much as you can! ~Michelle AD


	16. The Yule Ball

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters mentioned in this fanfiction. Harry Potter and all characters from the Harry Potter Series are property of J.K. Rowling.

**New Beginnings**

**Chapter Sixteen: The Yule Ball**

            Hermione looked up and her face was impassive. If she was feeling any emotion, she certainly was not showing it. Harry, however, was bright red from his ears to the base of his neck. He bit his lips tightly so that the faint taste of blood met his tongue while his eyebrows struggled to stay normal. 

            He couldn't believe what had just happened. Ron had just asked Hermione to the Yule Ball. 

            _Why the _hell_ would he do that? If he's already her boyfriend he doesn't even need to ask! _Then it hit Harry. _Maybe he's asking to stop me from asking. He knew I wanted to ask her—he wants to make it clear that Hermione is his girl…_

Harry shivered. 

It seemed to take Hermione forever to answer. Her head was still rising to look at Ron's face. Her face was blank as though she didn't hear him. 

            Finally she spoke. "What?" she said perplexed. 

            "The ball, The Yule Ball. I need a date and I'm asking you." He smiled, showing all his teeth. Harry showed his teeth too, but he wasn't smiling. 

            "You're my first choice, by the way," Ron continued. "It's not like last year—you know how I just asked you as a last resort?"

            "Yes, I remember…" Hermione replied. Harry saw her slippered foot twist in the loose carpeting by the couch. The sun and the snow far below the tower had illuminated the common room with white light and everything shined in stark contrasts. The fire in the grate had burned out hours ago and was as empty as smoke. 

            There was silence as Hermione rearranged her books. Ron did not look at Harry, but Harry did not move his eyes an inch from Ron's. 

            He was angry—but he couldn't think about why he was angry now. He was too busy trying to get Ron to meet his eyes—and waiting for Hermione's answer. 

            Ron's face began too look more worrisome as Hermione took longer to answer. 

            "You haven't said 'yes' to anyone else have you?" Ron questioned sharply. The worry on his face swiftly changed to indignation. 

            Hermione looked at Ron for a moment. "No."

            "Good, so will you go with me?"

            Harry could have imagined it but he was sure he saw Hermione give him the quickest of glances. Harry's heart seemed to have stopped beating…his mind went back to something Hermione had said not more than a few hours ago. 

            _Maybe I should since he obviously doesn't have the guts to ask me!_

            Had Harry not been thinking this, he would have heard Hermione's reply. He saw her lips move but the sound seemed to follow much later. Her lips parted, her muscles tightened, and through her throat her reply was heard. 

            "Yes. Alright. I'll go with you."

            Numb realization hit Harry's drugged brain. He had missed her. He had let her go. 

            Time seemed to speed up very suddenly. 

            "Great!" Ron said smiling. 

            Ron moved towards Harry and flopped down beside him. "Now I haven't got to worry anymore about dates."

            Harry refused to look at him and busied himself with picking up his Transfiguration book and _Modern Medical Herbs and Their Usage in Spells_ off the floor. 

            "Yes, well I have to go get ready. Harry, don't take too long getting dressed. You said you wanted me to read over your Charms essay. I'll read it down at the table." Hermione took her three books from Ron and began to move towards the Girl's staircase. 

            "Right," said Harry straightening up. 

            Ron turned to him. "You don't have a date, huh Harry? Who are you going to ask?"

            Hermione's footsteps stopped on the sixth step of the staircase. 

            Harry answered truthfully. "I have no idea."

            Ron gave an incredulous look mingled with hilarity. "You must wanna take someone!"

            "I did—but I think she has a date." Harry replied dully, standing up.

            "Oh…Tough luck mate. Well you'll find a date—there's no shortage of volunteers!" said Ron, he too standing up. 

            "No, there isn't," Harry said smiling slightly as he made his way towards the Boy's staircase. 

            Hermione's footsteps resumed on the Girl's staircase. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

            When the three of them reached the Great Hall they could tell something was different. The Hall, instead of being full of laughter, giggles, and random talk, it was filled with a worried and quiet buzz. 

            Harry, Ron, and Hermione walked into the spacious dining area and many heads swerved to watch them. The silence became louder. 

            Harry sat down at the Gryffindor Table, Hermione to his right and Ron to his left. 

            "What's going on?" Ron whispered to Harry. Their fellow Gryffindors were also giving them strange—and desperate looks. 

            "I dunno…" said Harry. He sunk down in his seat a bit. Several people turned away and muttered to their friends. 

            "I think I know," said Hermione's voice. She was reaching for her morning _Daily Prophet_ which had been left at her place. They had missed the morning mail delivery. 

            She untied the loose piece of twine that kept the inky paper from becoming disorganized. She unfurled the front page and it was obvious what everyone was so nervous about. 

**AZKABAN JAIL BREAK: LUCIUS MALFOY ESCAPES**

**MINISTRY IN UPROAR**

"Dear God," said Ron. He let the fork, he had been using to pile eggs on his plate, drop to the table. Harry stared numbly at the paper. After months of hearing nothing—here was something, something concrete that pointed to Voldemort's doing—and on the front page!

Harry found his voice. "He _escaped._" 

Harry turned immediately to the Slytherin Table. He searched for a blonde head among the other blondes, brunettes, and red-heads. He wasn't there. Draco wasn't there. Had the Ministry dragged him out of school for questioning? Did Draco know anything about his father's escape, and therefore about Voldemort?

Harry skimmed the faces of the Slytherins. Of all the tables they were certainly the most talkative. In fact, the looked as though they had just returned from a party. Harry grimaced as he saw Pansy Parkinson laugh maliciously while she read something from the Daily Prophet to three others around her.  

Hermione, meanwhile, was immersed in the article. 

"Listen to this. 'Break in last night around two in the morning….Dementors claim no involvement…formal Ministry inquiry expected to be announced by Minister Fudge this afternoon…new call to relieve Dementors of security at Azkaban Prison…'"

_Well that's good,_ Harry thought. He peered up at the Teacher's Table. It was almost completely empty. Harry could guess who was behind the movement. 

            "'He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named suspected to be behind break-in…'" Hermione continued but her voice became more constrained. "'The Minister's Senior Undersecretary has been placed in charge of the inquiry into the break in. Dolores Umbridge gave this short statement before apparting to Azkaban: 'A specialized team of Ministry Aurors and myself intend to find the true cause of this unfortunate event. Rest assured all evidence will be dealt with in a timely and professional manner…If You-Know-Who is behind the escape of Mr. Malfoy, though it is likely not the case…'"

            Harry stopped her short. "What the fuck!?" 

Several Gryffindors looked down the table in their direction. 

            Hermione waved her hand at Harry. _"Quiet!"_

            _"Umbridge!"_ said Harry in an infuriated whisper. "Wherever that woman is she always seems to get in the way!"

            Harry grabbed the paper from Hermione and read the rest of his former teacher's statement. 

            He threw it back at Hermione. "With her in charge of the investigation…! She still doesn't believe Voldemort is back!" Harry spat, struggling for words.

            Ron winced and resumed eating his eggs. 

            "Even after Fudge stuffed it down her throat…she still won't believe!" Harry raved. "We won't learn anything about this with her in charge…!"

            Hermione placed a placating hand on Harry's shoulder, which he shook off. 

            "We shouldn't be worrying about Umbridge anyway," said Hermione evenly. "She's the least of our problems…"

            "What cho mean?" Ron said next to Harry. 

            "I mean, how did Malfoy get out in the first place? It obviously has something to do with Voldemort. He's probably got some alliance with the Dementors."

            She and Harry exchanged dark looks.

            "You mean the Dementors just let him walk out?" Harry demanded, gripping his fork tightly. 

            "Probably," Hermione sighed.

            "What does Voldemort have to offer them that would make them give up someone they could suck the happiness out of?" Harry inquired, bending closer to the table. 

People around the Hall were still looking curiously at them. 

            "Don't you remember what Dumbledore said at the end of 4th year?" 

            Harry and Ron gave her blank looks. 

            Hermione sighed again. "I didn't think so. He said V-Voldemort could offer them much more scope for their powers and their pleasures than the Ministry could." 

            Ron cringed again at Voldemort's name. Harry ignored him. 

"But if that's true, why is it all the Dementors haven't left Azkaban all together already?" Harry questioned.  

            "A good question; Fudge probably has his own deal with the Dementors…making them stay…" Hermione's eyed widened. "Or perhaps the Dementors have already left Azkaban. It could be a cover-up. Fudge wouldn't want the public to know that he has lost control of them."

            Harry nodded. He wouldn't put it past Fudge to cover up something this big. He looked back towards the Teacher's Table.  

            _Dumbledore is probably in __London__ right now,_ Harry thought. The thought filled him with a reluctant fear. Ever since first year, he didn't feel safe with Dumbledore outside the walls of Hogwarts. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

            The excitement over Lucius Malfoy's escape almost drove out Harry's worries about the Yule Ball—and his resentment that Ron was now taking Hermione. 

            He needed to find a date quick. He wasn't about to not go and miss seeing Hermione squirm now that is was out that Ron and her were a "couple." But Harry was at a loss. The one girl he would have loved to take was taken—by his best friend no less. He would have to make do. 

            They had Potions that morning, adding to Harry's already immensely and royally pissed-off mood. 

            When they entered the cold mausoleum of a classroom Harry immediately preceded to the back, dumped his books, and took a seat. 

            Hermione shot him an unreadable look before taking her seat besides Crabbe. Susan made her way next to Harry a moment later. She gave him a smile that Harry tried to return. He was afraid it came off more as a grimace. 

            Professor Snape entered looking paler and more tired then he usually did. 

            The class quieted in a second, ready to spend another two hours in the dungeon doing their best to win the Potion master's approval. 

            The remaining Slytherins looked at Snape with eager and expectant expressions. Perhaps they expected him to comment on the escape of Lucius Malfoy. It was known throughout the school that they were on friendly terms. 

            However, it seemed it would take more than an Azkaban break-out to shake the professor from his perfunctory routine. 

            Snape gave a disdainful look about the class. "Today you'll be performing one of the more difficult potions required on the N.E.W.T.s criteria. I trust…"

            Harry stopped listening, waiting instead for Snape to display the instructions on the blackboard. He stole a glance at Hermione. She was sitting up in her seat paying cautious, but rapt attention to the professor. 

            Harry turned away from her bitterly and laid his chin in the palm of his hand. That morning's incident was playing back to him. 

            _So Ron was the guy she was waiting for, huh? He was the _right _guy. _

Harry couldn't help but feel that Hermione was playing with his emotions. Maybe she wasn't doing it intentionally, for Hermione wasn't that cruel-hearted, but he had had a glimmer of hope when she laid her head on his chest. 

            Was Hermione trying to hint that she wanted him to ask her? Harry didn't know. Hermione was being too vague, too discreet. 

            It didn't matter now. Hermione had a date…but there had been that look she gave him right before she said 'yes' to Ron. Harry didn't know quite what to make of that. 

            Harry was snapped out of his reverie as Snape waved a careless hand at the blackboard. The instructions appeared. 

            The next half hour went by at a snail's pace, a snail on crutches. 

            Harry reread each step of the procedure on the board three times before performing it. It was something he now did without thought. He would never give Snape a reason to embarrass him in class. 

            "Harry, can you pass me the powdered root?" Susan asked quietly to his left. 

            Harry moved to slide it to her and then stopped. He turned to look at Susan as though seeing her for the first time. 

            She was looking into her cauldron, her whole concentration focused on the metal ladle in her hand as she stirred her mixture three times counter-clockwise. He brown hair had fallen loose from its pony-tail due to the steam rising from multiple cauldrons. She turned when she felt his eyes on him. 

            "What's wrong?" said Susan giving him a puzzled look. 

            "Oh," Harry realized he was staring. He passed her the small vile of powdered root. 

            "Thanks," she said taking it from him. 

            Harry continued to stare. 

            "What!" she said in an agitated whisper. 

            Harry smiled so reassure her nothing was wrong and then looked away. "Nothing,"

            By the time the bell rang an hour later Harry had already decided what he would do. 

            There was a rush to get out of classroom as students packed their ingredients into their cauldrons and went to the back of the class room to place their potions on the back shelf. Harry had just finishing writing his name on his flask when he saw Hermione waiting for him at the door.  

            Harry was usually the first one out since no one hated the class as much as he did. However, this time he waved Hermione on. She gave him a perplexed look. Harry waved her out again and Hermione gave him one more suspicious look before leaving. 

            Harry was waiting for Susan to finish labeling her flask. 

            Harry gathered up his books and waited outside the door as Snape brushed past him hurriedly, sparing Harry any rude comment about being in the way. 

            Susan finally exited and turned in the direction of the Great Hall for lunch. 

            "Susan!" Harry called. 

            She turned and looked surprised to see him waiting for her. "Oh, hi Harry,"

            "Hi,"

            A moment of silence fell between them.

            "Did you want something?"

            "Yes," said Harry quickly. He looked down the long deserted corridor. No one was there. "I was just wondering if you had a date for the Yule Ball…"

            Harry waited a bit nervously for her reply. 

            Her eyes widened a bit as though she didn't believe he was actually asking her about the Yule Ball. 

            "Uh…" She gave him a doubtful look. "I don't want to go with Ron."

            Harry stared dumbly at her for a moment. "What?" Then it came to him. "Oh no, this isn't for Ron. I'm asking you. Do you want to go with me?"

            Her eyebrows flew together in confusion.

            Harry's heart began to beat faster. His neck was beginning to feel increasingly and uncomfortably warm, despite the fact that they were seven feet underground on a cold December day. 

            "Someone else hasn't asked you have they?" Harry asked as imperturbably as he could.

            Susan didn't answer. She looked past him and her eyes seemed to grow distant. Harry recognized the look after a moment. There was someone she wanted to ask her who hadn't yet.

            Then she looked back at Harry and suddenly realized who she was talking to. This was Harry Potter. He was probably the most sought after date in Hogwarts. She couldn't say no. She knew several Hufflepuffs that would strangle her if she did say no. 

            "So…you want me to be your date?" Susan asked cautiously just to make sure she understood the situation. 

            Harry smiled and Susan's heart hammered a little faster. 

            "Yes," he answered.

            "Oh…alright then, I'll go with you," she said, still dazed. She still couldn't quite believe that Harry had just asked her to the Yule Ball. They hardly ever talked. You couldn't carry on a conversation in Potions and he was usually too busy helping the younger students during DA meetings to talk to her. In all the other classes she had with him he was flanked by Ron and Hermione. Everyone knew those three were inseparable. She wondered why he hadn't asked Hermione. 

            "Great," said Harry with relief. "So I guess I'll meet you in the Entrance Hall?"

            "Yes," said Susan coming back to herself. "Eight o'clock?"

            "Eight o'clock," Harry smiled. 

            He walked away and leaving a bemused Susan alone in the cold corridor. Through all her confusion she had picked up one thing, however. He had a nice smile.  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

            Harry sat down at the Gryffindor Table two minutes later to find Ron and Hermione already seated and chatting amiably. The Hall had regained some of its composure since breakfast, though there was still a worried buzz at each House table. 

            Harry took a seat across from his best friends. 

            "There you are, Harry," Hermione said turning towards him. "What kept you?"

            Harry poured a liberal amount of pumpkin juice into his goblet before answering. "I got a date,"

            Ron was the first to react. A shower of water spilled from his mouth as he sipped from his goblet. 

            "You did?" he said, ignoring Harry's annoyed look as he wiped Ron's spit from off his glasses. "Who?"

            Hermione was also looking at him. She was wearing the same unreadable expression she had worn in the common room early that morning.  

            "Susan Bones," Harry replied replacing his glasses. 

             Ron looked as if he was trying to recall the name. Then it came to him. "Susan… Oh, from the DA meetings, right? Good job, mate! She really is quite pretty…"

            He turned to the Hufflepuff table to find Harry's soon-to-be Yule Ball companion. Hermione however threw a disgusted look at Ron. 

            "Harry didn't ask her out just because she's pretty! He's not like that!" she stated hotly as Ron turned back to the Gryffindor table. 

            Harry smiled slightly that Hermione was defending his morals on girls. 

            "Susan is very nice. She _almost _beat me in a dueling match last week," said Hermione as if that secured her likeability. Perhaps if Susan _had_ beaten Hermione, she wouldn't speak so fondly of her. 

            "But I didn't know you knew her that well, Harry," Hermione continued. 

            "I don't," Harry interrupted. 

            "Then she wasn't the girl you were hoping would ask you?" Hermione asked giving him a sharp look. 

            Harry looked at Hermione for a moment. "No."

            "Then why did you ask her?"

            "Because the girl I wanted is taken…I suppose." Harry knew he should stop himself. Hermione wasn't an idiot. She could guess that he was talking about her…and he had promised himself he wouldn't ask Hermione. 

            _Ron…prophecy…_Harry thought dully to himself. 

He wasn't allowed to like Hermione, he told himself for the billionth time. It wasn't right. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

            The day of the Ball began crisp and clear. It had snowed the previous evening, leaving a soft blanket of immaculately white snow. The tops of the birch and evergreen trees of the Forbidden Forest were covered with snow as well, hiding the scores of animals deep in hibernation or else scurrying around trying to find food.

            The castle had been decorated the previous day as well. Hagrid had dragged in the twelve massive evergreen trees the week before and they were now bedecked with mistletoe, a myriad of ornaments, crystals, fairies, and anything else you could think of. Un-melting icicles had been attached to the banister of the great marble staircase and long boughs of holly were entwined among them. Garland upon garland of evergreen branches were hung over doorways and archways so that the smell of Christmas never left the noses of the inhabitants of Hogwarts. 

            More noticeable than the decorations, however, was the crescendo of excitement for Christmas Break and the Yule Ball. All the girls through 4th year up were beside themselves with hysterical excitement that became inescapable that December afternoon. 

            Harry was seated in the common room playing wizard chess with a 1st year when he realized exactly how mad the entire school had gone. Girls were racing up and down the stairs grabbing scissors or running out of the common room and returning with long garlands of pine needles. Harry didn't have a clue what they planned to do with them. Maybe they were building a hut. 

            It was a Friday and classes had been let out early due to the extreme cases of ADD that had infected almost all of the Hogwarts population. Ron had gone off somewhere mumbling something like "…broom…" and Hermione had long since disappeared into the Girl's dormitory.

            Harry turned back to his game with the sneaky little first year. 

            _These little runts are so lucky,_ Harry thought smiling. _No dates, no women, nothing to worry about._

            How he envied them. 

            _Fortunately, they are also stupid, _Harry thought as he checked the poor boy's king two moves later. 

            Harry thought back to breakfast that morning. Hermione had been laughing quite a lot, if he recalled correctly. She seemed to be consumed by giddy excitement like all the other girls. It had caught Harry and Ron quite off guard that she was acting so…_feminine._ In fact, she spent most of breakfast chatting to Parvati and Lavender about her dress robes and how she would wear her hair. 

            Charms had been interesting as well. Professor Flitwick, as always, had charmed several fairies into his room to give off some extra Christmas cheer. He had also given them a lecture on the dangers of Firewhisky, much to Ron's amusement. Harry's mind was on other matters though. Susan seemed thoroughly agitated and it didn't take Harry long to figure out why. Hermione had told him that she was getting quite a lot of attention, some of it negative, because she was his date. Harry didn't have a clue why until Hermione pointed out that he had turned down maybe a third of the female population for the Yule Ball. 

            Harry felt rather guilty after that. Susan was not used to all the attention the came with being associated to Harry. She wasn't the kind of girl who knew how to deal with it all. Perhaps he should have picked another girl, one he knew better. Besides Hermione, the other girls he was familiar with were Parvati, Lavender, and Ginny. 

            All three had dates, even Ginny who had broken up with Dean a week before the Ball. But Harry liked Susan very much. She was a great partner in Potions and always helped him when he needed help. They had even worked in Snape's dungeon side by side when they had been given detention for talking too much. She was one of the best fighters in the DA and had incredible patience with the 4th years that couldn't even learn a simple Reductor Curse, something that Harry's lacked in the extreme. She was also the only other student, beside Harry and Hermione, who was studying to be an Auror. Aside from that, she had a very radiant personality that showed on her face. She was just one of those people who was naturally happy. 

            Yes, Harry was very happy that he had retained such a nice date, well as happy as he could be with a date that wasn't Hermione…

            _Don't think about that, _Harry thought bitterly.  

            Harry left the common room after his game because the room was beginning to fill up. He wanted some peace to think before he proceeded down to the Entrance Hall. 

            He was stopped, however, on the third floor.

            "Harry!"

            Harry spun around to see his Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher's head poke out of his office door. Lupin waved for him to come in and Harry entered cautiously, afraid that this was about his paper on Free Will Curses. 

            "Professor?" Harry looked about. Most of the room was still cluttered with boxes. He still hadn't unpacked. Along the walls were shelves stacked with books, odd delicate looking instruments, old briefcases, an aquarium full of crab-like creatures, and something that looked suspiciously like a Muggle microwave. An overstuffed maroon sofa was against the back wall along with a dusty side table. 

            Lupin was already at his desk, the one box-free area of the spacious office. "Sit down, Harry."

            Harry took a seat in one of the simple wooden chairs in front of the desk. 

            Lupin seemed to peruse him for a moment, unsure as how to begin. Harry spoke first. 

            "Is this about the DA?" said Harry lowering his voice even though he had closed the office door behind him. "I don't think we'll have another meeting before classes let out. There isn't much time…"

            Lupin gave him a puzzled look before shaking his head, smiling. After a moment he became serious.

            Harry gave him a wary look. He had never seen his teacher look so serious in all the time he had known him. And the two of them had been through some pretty serious things…

            "I wanted to talk to you about the Prophecy."

            Harry looked up from his lap. He wanted to talk about the Prophecy?! 

Harry hadn't spoken about it since he had first learnt about it from Dumbledore…he had actually never said the word "prophecy" aloud to anyone since the previous June. And here was Lupin saying he wanted to talk about it. It was almost as if Lupin had read his thoughts, his own private thoughts, and was now talking casually about them as though they had been on display to the public. It was quite unnerving and it obviously showed on his face.  

            "It's really nothing bad," Lupin said quickly. 

            Harry nodded slowly. He assumed anything that had to do with the Prophecy was, in fact, bad, so he didn't quite believe him. 

            "You see," he cleared his throat, "with the Yule Ball being today…I just wanted to remind you that you need to take…take into consideration a few things."

            "Like what?" Harry said bemused. He was pretty sure he had considered everything that could possibly have anything to do with the Prophecy. 

            Lupin sighed and placed his elbows on the desk. He ran a tired hand through his graying locks. "That there are people here at Hogwarts watching your every move—and not people who have your best interests at heart like me and Dumbledore …" 

            Harry tried to not show his anger on his face. _You're watching my every move, are you?_

Lupin seemed not to have noticed and continued. "There are spies here—at Hogwarts—ready to give any information they can to Voldemort about you. It only takes one student to tell their parent something and that parent to tell Voldemort."

            "And why does Voldemort need to know anything about me…?" Harry asked, though he was sure of the answer. 

            "Isn't it obvious? You thwarted him last summer when you and Neville broke the recording of the Prophecy," he said, referring to the glass sphere. "He'd do anything to find out what it said. He knows that only Professor Dumbledore knows its exact wording now."

            His eyes seemed to grow even more troubled, but he continued. 

            "Voldemort naturally assumes that Dumbledore has told you by now. So now only you and Dumbledore know. He will do _anything_ to find out what it said." He stressed the word and looked down at his desk before continuing. "Which is why you have to be careful Harry. Anyone you get close to will become a target to Lord Voldemort," he paused momentarily to let his words sink in. "He _will_ hunt them down and extract the Prophecy from their mind and if they don't know it…Voldemort would probably kill that person…" he explained steadfastly, though Harry could tell he was having trouble keeping his voice and face fixed.

            "But—!" Harry cried angrily. 

            "I know you haven't told anyone Harry. I can tell by how bottled up and agitated you are these days. I just hope you keep it that way. Anyone you become close to will be a target for Voldemort," he repeated. "You have to understand that Voldemort…will do _anything_ to learn that Prophecy…and if it hurts you in the process, it only adds a bonus…"

            Harry sat shocked for several moments, his mouth slightly open and his eyes wide and staring at his professor. Harry didn't want to hear more but Lupin went on. 

            "Everyone in the Order knows about the Prophecy. Me, Professor McGonagall, Professor Snape, Arthur and Molly, Tonks…we all know. And believe me, our lives are constantly on the edge and prone to attack because we know about it…"

            And then he came to what concerned Harry. 

            "But…there are certain people who…who can't deal with life being on the edge—innocent people."

            Harry thought of Hermione. He thought of Ron. They were targets too, even though he hadn't told either one of them about the Prophecy. 

            "Ron and Hermione…" Harry said more to himself than to Lupin. 

            "Yes," Lupin said nodding. "They are, obviously, in danger." He suddenly looked up and gave Harry an aggrieved look. "Through no fault of your own, mind you. You can't help who your friends are and if they did know about the Prophecy they wouldn't stop being your friends. They care too much about you."

            Harry knew this was true but it did nothing to ease the growing worry that was forming in the pit of his stomach. 

            "Ron and Hermione could handle it. Ron's parents are in the Order and Hermione is a smart girl and wouldn't leave your side for anything. They are in danger though. Keep that in mind…"

            Harry kept it in mind. 

            "But what I'm more concerned about is Susan Bones…"

            Harry looked up. So he knew too? That Susan was his date…well how could he not know if he was watching Harry's every move. 

            "What about her?"

            "She's your date, correct?" He didn't wait for Harry to nod. "All it takes is for one student to tell their parent that she's your date…I know you didn't mean to put her in danger, but by being her date you've made her a target."

            Harry's eyes widened and his heart plummeted. Why hadn't he thought of that before? 

            "Voldemort may go after her, thinking you have told her the Prophecy…She is unprotected. She's not like Ron or Hermione who are constantly watched like you. Why do you think Ron doesn't live in the Burrow anymore? Because Grimmauld Place is much safer for him. Why did Hermione spend the summer there also? Because her home was no longer safe either…"

            The growing worry in Harry's stomach slowly turned into a crushing feeling of guilt. 

_It's all because of me. It's all my fault._

Ron had to move out of his home and Hermione had to leave her parents! He had never once considered that they, perhaps, liked their summer homes. He had always spent his summers with the Dursleys, so anyplace else was an improvement. But Ron was happy at the Burrow and Hermione was happy wherever she was before…and he had taken that away from them. 

            Lupin continued, "Susan will need protection, maybe for a long time…I just wanted to tell you to be more careful…it's probably best that you…er…"

            Harry smiled surprisingly at Lupin's discomfort. "Don't have a girlfriend?" he suggested. 

            "No…just that you don't get close to anyone you can't afford to… er… get close to" he finished lamely and awkwardly.

            Harry got the picture and started up from his chair. 

            Lupin stood up also and walked to the door. He waved his wand and the room was flooded with red light before turning back to normal. 

            Harry gave Lupin a quizzical look. 

            "Didn't want anyone to overhear," Lupin said smartly and he ushered Harry out. 

            Harry walked down to the second floor, turning over in his mind what Lupin had said. It all made perfect sense…he knew what he had to do. 

            Harry sighed as he pointed his wand to his head and cast his headache spell. He had gone too long without it. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

            When Harry returned to the common room he wasn't surprised to find it in uproar. The ball was just one hour away and if Harry thought everyone was mad before, it was nothing compared to how insane everyone was now. 

            Girls were running up and down the stairs with their hair half-styled. Harry could hear a distant rumbling above his head. It was the constant and excited chatter of all the Gryffindor girls as they moved about getting ready. 

            _Girls are insane,_ Harry thought ardently as he looked around the room for Ron. _They spend the entire day getting ready for a ball that only lasts three hours. _

            The common room was filled with mostly guys who had not yet gone upstairs to put on their dress-robes. No doubt they wanted to put it off as long as possible. Harry wove his way through the masses passing several dejected looking 3rd year girls. Harry felt vaguely sorry for them. First years and second years didn't give a hoot about the Ball, but third years were down right miserable about not to being able to join their teenage counterparts at the one social event at Hogwarts. 

            Harry, not finding any of his dorm-mates, ascended the Boy's staircase to the 5th year dormitories. When he opened the door he found all four of them there. Ron had just gotten out of the shower and was combing his red locks self-consciously in the mirror. Seamus was dully unfurling a set of dark red dress-robes from his trunk. Dean was sulking on his bed, reading a magazine that had something to do with Quidditch. He was the quietest of the group. He still wasn't quite over his sudden break-up with Ginny, though Ron couldn't be happier. Neville was already dressed in robes of light blue and was sitting on the edge of his bed when Harry walked in. 

            "Hey Harry!" Neville said happily.

            "Hey Neville," said Harry walking to his trunk to get out his dress-robes. A nervous feeling was growing his stomach. After his talk with Lupin it was going to be hard seeing Susan. Harry felt overwhelmingly ashamed that he was putting her in danger. He didn't want to, but he was going to have to blow her off at the Ball. He wanted to make sure that no one thought they knew each other well, or were close in any way. Perhaps then she would be in slightly less danger. And…and Susan had wanted another date Harry realized suddenly. He remembered the distant look she had worn when Harry had asked her to the Ball. She had been waiting for someone to ask her, and maybe he would've had Harry not interfered. 

            Harry gave a depressed sigh, feeling wretched that he was inadvertently hurting one of the nicest girls he knew. 

            Ten minutes later they were all dressed, Ron taking particular pride in his appearance. The dress-robes Fred and George had bought him were a little short but they were scads better than his robes from two years ago. This time they were navy blue and trimmed with a simple silver design around the hem, collar, and sleeves. Harry looked down self-consciously at his own robes. He thought back to when Hermione had made him buy them with a smile. The robes were deep green velvet trimmed in a golden vine design along the edges. He silently thanked Hermione, for he would never have picked these robes on his own. 

            Two minutes later Harry, Ron, Neville, Seamus, and Dean trudging dejectedly down the steps to the common room. It was now filled with people wearing a multitude of different colored robes instead of the conformal black. Nervous chatter and excited giggles filled and floated around the room. More and more colorfully frocked girls were pouring down the stairs and meeting their dates. Now was obvious what they had done with the garlands. Instead of building huts, some girls had woven them into their hair, creating quite a pretty effect Harry had to admit. Others wore them as sashes along with holly and poinsettias, producing a rather fetching appearance. 

            Harry still didn't see Hermione and obviously neither did Ron. He was craning his neck over the mass of twittering, giggling, and traumatized students, looking for his date. 

            Harry suddenly felt very out of place. He didn't want to be around when Hermione met Ron at the bottom of the steps…

            Harry grabbed Ron's sleeve. "Ron, I'm going to go down already. I'll meet you down there."

            Ron gave Harry a "don't do anything I wouldn't do" look and said "Alright,"

            "What?" Harry said agitatedly. He wanted to leave before Hermione came down. She would be down any moment. 

            "Don't do anything—" Ron began. 

            "You wouldn't do," Harry finished putting on a smile. 

            "Yeah," said Ron clapping him on the back in farewell. He moved away and towards the Girl's staircase. 

            _Just what exactly wouldn't you do…_Harry thought angrily as he watched Ron move away. Harry shivered thinking of his best friends together—

            Harry heard the restless rumble of voices as he nervously made his way down to the Entrance Hall. A large number of students were already congregated there, waiting for the doors of the Great Hall to be thrown open. Once again, Harry was struck by the feeling that there seemed to be more people than usual. Boys in brightly colored robes stood chatting with girls in fancy dresses while others were looking around apprehensively for their dates, as was Harry. 

            He spotted Susan far from the Great Hall doors and closer to the outside doorway which led out to the grounds. She was in the center of a large group of Hufflepuffs. They seemed to have noticed Harry arrive long before he spotted Susan. He fought his way through the crowd to get to her. 

            Two girls, one in bright red and one in soft yellow, pushed Susan forward to meet him. Harry got his first clear look at her, away from the milling students. 

            She was wearing a long gown of soft purple mixed with a deep midnight blue petticoat. A long train encrusted with beads swept be hind her. Her light brown hair was pulled into a high and elegant bun, though several curled tendrils fell around her neck. A large silver barrette shaped like a dove held her hair in place. The barrette matched the silver chain of her necklace which held an amber flowered jewel around her delicate neck. Two diamond stud earrings caught the light created by the surrounding torches and set her eyes aglow with fire. 

            Her Hufflepuff friends were watching Harry's every move and Harry quickly found his voice. 

            "You look beautiful," Harry told her truthfully. 

            "Thank you," she said, giving him a soft smile. Behind them, Susan's friends were overcome by a flurry of giggles. 

            Harry gave Susan a sad look that she did not notice before taking her hand and leading her closer to the doors. She looked so beautiful and Harry cringed as he thought of the terrible task that lay ahead. 

_I have to blow her off… for her own good._

            Harry and Susan moved rapidly to the front of the Entrance Hall. Students moved out of their way surprisingly quickly, shooting the couple strange looks. Obviously some people had been waiting to see for themselves if Harry Potter was _really_ taking Susan Bones to the Yule Ball. 

            Harry looked about and spotted several of his friends. Neville was in a corner chatting with a pretty girl in a blue dress. Seamus was giving Lavender a kiss on the cheek while Dean looked on moodily. His date, Parvati, was looking about the Hall, not paying particular attention to anything. 

            Harry smiled to himself as he saw Katie Bell ecstatically entwining her arm with Charlie Dobbs'. Charlie looked down at Katie with warm affection and Harry rolled his eyes before they landed on Cho. She was wearing a fiery orange gown that hung off one shoulder. She was clinging to the arm of a very tall Ravenclaw who was gazing pompously around at the other students. But Harry's attention was diverted when he saw Ginny arrive from upstairs. Her date was Anthony Goldstein, a Ravenclaw prefect. She, however, was looking slightly downcast. Harry looked back to Dean and Parvati. Dean had grabbed Parvati's hand and was now in deep conversation with her, his laugh echoing above the rumble of other voices. Parvati looked slightly confused. By the banister rail stood Luna fiddling with an earring that was shaped like a dragonfly. She was wearing a strapless polka-dot dress that stopped at her knees; her hair was the same except for that it was curly instead of pencil straight. She didn't appear to have a date and Harry felt a bit sorry for her before he turned back to Susan. He was afraid if he looked about the Entrance Hall any longer he would surely see Hermione and Ron descending the marble steps. 

            Harry spent several minutes comfortably chatting with Susan, she really was quite loquacious, but she stopped mid-reply as the giant oak doors slowly turned on their hinges. A sudden quiet fell over the students congregated in the hall, as every eye followed the door's progression. The torches dimmed by magic and there was an intake of breath as the doors revealed the Great Hall.

In the darkened twilight Harry took a firmer hold of Susan's hand and together they walked into the Hall. There were many "oooh"s and "awww"s from the crowd. The most noticeable change was the ceiling. Students were rarely ever in the Great Hall by night and had never seen it alight with stars and a full moon, which shone an ethereal luminosity upon the cool floor below. The dozen Christmas trees had remained unchanged since breakfast but it seemed as if hundreds of fairies had crept among the ornaments to provide a little extra light. Harry was stunningly reminded of the times when Aunt Petunia had turned on the television to see the lighting of the Christmas tree in Rockefeller Center in New York City.  

The house tables and the teacher's table were no longer seen. Like two years ago, there were about a hundred smaller tables, seating from two to ten. Against the back wall stood a gigantic ice sculpture of a dove; below it was a giant, shimmering punch bowl. A stage had been set up in the middle of the Hall cluttered with various instruments that Harry had never seen before.

The Hall was quickly filling around him and Susan. Harry moved Susan farther inside and found a table that would seat four. She was still holding his hand and Harry tried to think of a way to get out it.

"I'll get you some punch," Harry said releasing her. 

Before Harry was five steps away, a swarm of girls flocked to her. Harry suppressed a smile. It was going to be easier to ditch her than he thought. 

He moved towards the punch bowl and returned with two glasses. It was then when he caught sight of Hermione.

She was just entering the Hall with Ron on her arm. Ron's new robes, though handsome, did not hold a candle to what Hermione was wearing. 

Her radiant white dress made the snow outside dull in comparison. As she entered, Harry's eyes followed low neckline of her gown, edged in delicate lace. The beaded crystal bodice swept down to where the skirt parted, revealing a petticoat with three sheer lace flounces. Silver leaves danced across the hem of her robes, following the smooth curve of her body. In back, a beautiful silvery cerulean bow flowed into the graceful sweep of her train. Her hair was set into an elegant, twisting bun while soft ringlets cascaded downward, framing her face. Each lock of hair seemed to glow with the brilliance of a diamond, making her hair shimmer as she moved. Her entire person seemed to capture all the light in the room, as though a spotlight had been placed on her. 

It was then that Harry realized his jaw had dropped to his chest and that he was spilling quite a lot of punch. With one last look at Hermione, he moved to rejoin Susan. 

Harry was not the only one to notice Hermione's appearance. Several Slytherin girls were eying her clothes with unmistakable envy. She was certainly the most beautifully dressed, and in Harry's opinion, the most beautiful girl in the Great Hall.

Harry handed his punch to Susan and sat down beside her, keeping Hermione in the corner of his eye. She and Ron were now talking to Neville, Seamus, and Dean and their respective dates. Lavender was complimenting Hermione's dress while Parvati was examining a ring on her finger and a beautiful lily-shaped pendant hanging around her neck. 

Harry turned back to his date, not seeing the searching look Hermione shot across the room. 

Five minutes into his conversation with Susan, Dumbledore stood in the front of the Hall and clapped his hands for attention. The students quieted and looked to the Headmaster. 

"Hello everyone! Hello everyone! Glad to see so many of you here. Before the dancing begins," he gestured to the dance floor, "I invite you to partake in a meal beforehand."

There was a rush to sit down at tables. Hermione was on the other end of the Hall and sat down with Ron at a two person table. 

The gaggle of Hufflepuff girls that had swarmed on Susan were now dispersed and sitting with their own dates. He heard Susan order.

"Salad!" she said reading a menu that had been placed by their table with a low-burning candle. A Cesar salad appeared before her and Harry soon followed her lead. 

Harry and Susan talked about various things while a band began setting up on the stage. Harry couldn't recall if they were the same band as two years ago—he vaguely remembered them being called the Weird Sisters—but this group seemed much more professional. 

Harry looked back to Ron and Hermione. They were chatting normally, though Hermione seemed to be doing most of the talking. 

Harry let a small sigh escape his lips and Susan looked up at her date. She followed his eyes to Hermione. She looked back at Harry, read his glazed expression, and understood. She smiled slightly knowing she had been right. 

Twenty minutes later, most students were done with their meal and ready to dance. Harry took Susan to the dance floor, glad that this time he was not a Champion and would not have to dance first. In fact, he didn't feel nervous at all about dancing, though he credited that to Hermione's help. 

The first song was a slow waltz and no one seemed to want to be the first on the dance floor. Harry then saw Hermione and Ron emerge from the crowd and move to the center of the floor. 

Harry, not wanting to be outdone, dragged Susan into the spotlight also. Harry placed a hand on her waist and entwined his hand with hers. He felt slightly uncomfortable as he moved her gracefully around the floor to the music. He had only danced with Hermione before, so dancing with another girl was a quite different experience. He looked over at his best friends and suppressed a bitter smile, knowing that she was leading. Ron was looking down at his feet more than he looked at Hermione. 

Hermione caught his eye and she rolled her eyes. Harry smiled and turned away. 

Soon the entire floor was filled with dancing couples and teachers. Susan talked about homework and teachers and her life and her family and Harry laughed and nodded and spoke when it was appropriate, but the entirety of his thoughts centered on a certain girl in a white gown. 

He missed holding her as they danced. He missed talking to her. He missed looking down into her cinnamon eyes. Susan was great, but Hermione…

The song ended and the Hall rang with applause. Hermione started to lead Ron off the dance floor, but Harry saw Ron pulling her back.

"Well, Harry," Susan was saying, "I think I'll sit down now. Why don't you go meet up with your friends…?" She knew his attention was not on her tonight.

Harry gave her an apologetic look. "Are you sure?"

She nodded and Harry turned back to the dance floor. Hermione was now cringing slightly every few seconds as Ron stepped on her feet. 

"No, no. One more dance," Harry said recapturing her hand and pulling her into the dance. 

Susan allowed herself to be pulled in for one final dance. It would probably be the last time she would dance with Harry Potter. Think of what she could tell her mother! She danced with Harry Potter, twice! Her mother would die! Susan smiled. She had to admit Harry was a fabulous dancer…

Harry walked around the edge of the Hall. It had been surprisingly easy to get rid of Susan. In fact, it was almost like _she_ had ditched him. The dance had been pretty boring since her departure. Ron and Hermione had danced occasionally and Harry had not yet found the courage or the stomach to talk to them. There was something about seeing his two friends acting "couple-ly" that made his stomach churn. 

Harry moved towards the fifth Christmas tree on the left side of the Hall, observing the dance. Katie and Charlie were dancing rather too close together. Neville was dancing with the same girl in the blue dress. She had a kind face and Harry couldn't remember where he'd seen her before. Ernie Macmillan was dancing with Susan. Harry supposed he should feel a teeny bit jealous though he couldn't help silently thanking Ernie. Everyone seeing Susan dance with another man would certainly disassociate herself from being considered Harry's love-interest. Lavender was dragging a very reluctant Seamus on the dance floor. Dumbledore and Professor Sinistra were dancing in the center of the floor near Hagrid and Professor Sprout. It looked rather odd looking considering Professor Sprout only reached Hagrid's navel. On one side of the Hall, Ginny sat alone at a two-person table. She was twirling her glass of punch with her index finger looking thoroughly miserable. Dean was on the other side of the Hall in a similar condition. Harry turned back to the floor and saw Professor McGonagall wedging apart Katie and Charlie. Harry smiled as the blustered professor gave up as Charlie retook Katie as though there had been no interruption. 

A flash of white caught his eye. He knew it was Hermione even before he turned his head. She was walking towards the punch bowl. Harry threw a look at the dance floor and then followed her. 

"Hey Harry," Hermione said happily when she spotted him. 

_She looks even prettier up close_, Harry thought miserably. Some of her hair had fallen from its elegant bun and her cheeks were pink from exertion, but she looked just as beautiful as when he first saw her. Harry tried to slow his heart's pounding cadence. 

"You look amazing," Harry said with feeling. Hermione turned away so he wouldn't see her cheeks grow even redder. 

"Thank you," said Hermione matter-of-factly. 

Harry poured himself and Hermione punch before they both leaned against the table observing the antics of their friends on the dance floor. 

"Nice ball, huh?" Harry said watching Hagrid's unseemly dip of Professor McGonagall.

"I guess," said Hermione looking towards Harry. "It is a bit…tedious."

"Boring," Harry offered dispiritedly. 

"Dreary," Hermione returned.

"Lifeless?"

"Insipid?"

Harry and Hermione smiled and looked away from each other. 

Harry stole a glance, loving everything about her from the way her hair fell at the nape of her neck, to the way she held her punch glass. He decided. 

"Well, there's only thing to do then," Harry said, resolutely putting down his glass. 

"Yes and what's that?" Hermione said grinning.

Harry held out his hand in a melodramatic flourish. "May I have this dance?"

Hermione laughed and looked down. She could feel her cheeks heating up again. 

"I don't feel like dancing. Ron has somewhat minimized my chances of ever feeling my toes again…" She looked up into Harry's puppy-dog eyes.

"Don't give me that," Hermione said agitatedly. 

Harry proceeded in sticking out his bottom lip.

"No! I said no!" She laughed and blushed a deep crimson as he took to one knee and caught her hand. 

"Fine, fine!" Hermione said beat, not wanting to attract anymore attention. 

Harry got off the ground, giving her a victorious smile. 

He held out his hand to Hermione, lacing his fingers with hers as the approached the dance floor. 

"Just so you know," Hermione said, rolling her eyes, "you don't pull off the whole puppy-dog eyes very well."

"It worked, didn't it?" Harry said as they reached the floor and joined in the dance. 

"I was being nice because I knew you tried."

"How sweet," Harry commented. 

He placed a hand on her waist and their free hands flew together automatically—their hands knew each other. Harry and Hermione fell into step as they were swept into the revolving center of the dance floor—it was a somewhat slow song meaning they both could talk. 

"Speaking of sweet—have you seen Charlie and Katie…?" Hermione giggled.

The song wove its way between their feet as their owners acted as it were a regular dance lesson they had every week. Neither of them, their eyes gazing deep into each other, noticed that dozens of couples had stopped dancing and moved to the edge of the floor to watch the two expert dancers move gracefully across the floor. 

Harry and Hermione talked and danced well into the next song, and the next song, and the one after that. He was aware of how it must look—two people spending the whole night together when they had different dates—but he didn't mind what they thought. Hermione seemed to have totally forgotten Ron and Harry hadn't seen Susan for nearly twenty minutes. They were, however, very aware of each other while Harry held the girl he had known five years in his arms. So much had changed since then—when Harry had been a skinny boy with glasses and she had been a little girl with bushy hair. Things had changed between them. He knew that he loved her, as a friend first of all, and now recently as something more. 

_When had it all changed?_  Harry thought. Harry didn't know—only that now he would do anything for Hermione or someone she loved. If that meant he couldn't have her, so be it. He would always love her.

The music went on long into the night and the talk became sleepier and sleepier. Couples deserted the room for broom cupboards and rose bushes and teachers left to harass them. Harry and Hermione became one of the last couples dancing. Hermione relaxed in Harry's warm arms, as he held her firmly to him. Their synchronized steps were comforting and steady as both moved slowly as one. She never took here eyes away from Harry's deep emerald orbs and Harry never took his away from hers. They had stopped talking long ago. 

Harry's mind was working very much like Hermione's. He wished that every minute he held her to him would last a year and that the stars that were growing still brighter in the sky would freeze in place. He was afraid that when the sun rose he would find this night to be nothing more than a dream. But for now, he was content just holding her and knowing that, at least for now, she was his and he was hers. An earthquake could not have shaken them apart. 

            Harry distantly heard the band announce the last song and vaguely heard the rustle of couples joining in for the last dance. Harry tightened his embrace on Hermione as an eerily beautiful tune entered their ears. 

            Hermione delicately lay her head on Harry's firm chest, inhaling the spicy scent that could only be Harry. Harry shivered as her soft locks grazed his neck. Lost in each other, neither had realized that they had been spending the whole night on the dance floor in each others company; people were beginning to throw them confused and strange looks. In the back of Hermione's mind she knew she was neglecting Ron but lacked the will to break herself from Harry. 

            Time has an unfortunate way of speeding up when you want it to slow down. The song ended and Harry and Hermione finally had to break apart. 

            Hermione slowly unlocked her hands from around his neck and slid her hands down his arms. Harry reluctantly let go of her waist and took her hand in his.

            Hermione looked around the room for Ron and not finding him she turned back to Harry. They were alone on the dance floor. The band was busy repacking their instruments and maybe a dozen people remained loitering at the door. The evergreen trees continued glowing brightly while the ice sculpture in the back of the hall gradually trickled away. Harry's heart gave a sigh, knowing it would be the last time he could spend time truly alone with Hermione. There would be no need for dance lessons anymore.

           Harry held her hand tightly, knowing she would say that she had better find Ron. He was not ready to say "good night" to her.

            "I guess we better head to the common room?" Hermione said finally, pulling her entwined hand out of Harry's.

            "Yes," Harry replied. 

            Together they made their way out of the Hall side by side with the last of the stranglers. Some headed out to the grounds while others made their way to their respective common rooms.

            Harry and Hermione walked to portrait of the Fat Lady in silence, their steps slow and dragging. 

            "Skiving Snackboxes," Harry said when they finally reached the portrait. She gave them a goaded look and swung open. 

            Harry let Hermione pass into the dimly lit common room first. Harry saw with a shock that it was empty, but realized that most of his House-mates were probably "occupied" elsewhere. The fire was still roaring comfortably in the grate, shining orange rays of light over the wall, furniture, and the silent couple. 

            Harry felt as if he should bid her good night in some way but she seemed quite lost in thought. He moved toward the Boy's staircase loosening the collar of his robes. He stopped on the third step when he heard Hermione's voice near his ear and her hand pulling on his sleeve. 

            "Wait! Stay with me awhile," she said meeting his eyes. 

            Harry locked his eyes with hers and knew he could not refuse her. Together they moved closer to the fire. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

            I so did not intend for this chapter to take this long. The moment I posted the last chapter I started on this one, it just took me forever to put everything into words. Believe me, I hate cliffhangers just as much as you do. It was a little sad writing this chapter—like I was sending away my baby away to college or something—lol. Well I got it done and I'm sorry to all of you that I have kept waiting.

Oh, and thank you so much to the 362 people who have sent me reviews. You will never know how much I appreciate them. It was because of you I have kept writing. So, please review as much as you can and I'll post chapters faster. I am open to criticism and praise or just plain comments or questions. Anyway, the next chapter is the chapter where—um—well things…lol. It's what you've been waiting for~Michelle AD


	17. The Kiss

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters mentioned in this fanfiction. Harry Potter and all characters from the Harry Potter Series are property of J.K. Rowling.

**New Beginnings**

**Chapter Seventeen: The Kiss**

Susan breathed in the frigid air that easily penetrated her shawl. The cobblestone path that she and Ernie were walking on was slick with melted snow and ice. Off in the distance, snow covered hills swept down into the darkness of the Forbidden forest and a full moon shined eerie blue upon the crystals of snow. Everything was quiet and calm. Susan smiled, feeling her hand in Ernie's as they walked along the rose bushes. The Ball had ended maybe fifteen minutes ago and together her and her companion had made their way outside to stroll along the gardens.

They were not short for company for as they turned one corner in the myriad of hedges and shrubs, they heard the distinct sounds of a couple quite unaware to the world around them, and very aware of each other. Susan passed Ernie a smirk as they moved further into the garden.

The stars were out in full and Susan was struck by how bright they were. She thought of her home in Bristol and how she was never able to see the stars from her window due to the street lamps in her neighborhood. They certainly were brighter in the country, far away from the cities and the street lamps. She wished this night could last forever. Everything was perfect—even though her date had ditched her twenty minutes into the Ball.

Susan smiled slightly. She had actually been the one to ditch Harry. She had told him she was going to get punch, not that he had heard her, and simply didn't come back. She had watched him as he walked alone along the Great Hall. She noted that he didn't ask anyone to dance. When girls brave enough to approach him with an appeal, asked him, he turned them down. He seemed quite content to mope around and throw dirty looks towards the dance floor.

Susan's smile grew. It figured that the one girl Harry wanted was taken. He could have had the prettiest girl in the whole Hall—but he wanted his best friend. Susan had always prided herself on being able to read people. Harry had been no different. The moment Harry saw Hermione he tuned out Susan and focused his mind solely on the girl in the white dress. Susan couldn't have misread the emotions in his eyes if she were blind.

Susan thought, although most of her friends would think it scandalous to think such a thing, that Harry and Hermione were very cute together. It would be no use trying to convince her friends. They, like everyone else in the school, thought Ron and Hermione were one of the sure couples in their year. Of course…there would be a lot of questions about Harry and Hermione in the morning and probably a lot of questions for her, concerning how she felt about her date running off with the school know-it-all.

Ernie and Susan stopped. There was a granite bench situated beneath a low alcove just ahead, surrounded by deep red roses. Susan caught her breath at its beauty and allowed Ernie to guide her to the bench. Susan sat herself next to him, her nervousness growing. She and Ernie talked awkwardly for a time until Ernie carefully picked off one of the roses from a nearby hedge and offered it to Susan. Susan blushed and took the stunning flower, ready to pin it in her hair. But, a careless thorn pricked her finger and the smallest amount of blood surfaced above her moon-washed skin. Ernie gave her a concerned look, but Susan grinned, brushed him away, and picked off the annoying barb. She placed the rose by her ear and shook her wounded finger over the snow surrounding the bench. A tiny droplet of blood fell on the pure white snow, where it was quickly absorbed and melted into the mosaic of sparkling crystals.

Harry ran a tired hand through her hair, marveling at how its silky texture could still surprise him no matter how long he felt it. He smiled as he studied how each strand caught the light and sparkled with warm life as if her hair were a continuation of the flames.

They had been talking quietly on the couch in the still empty common room for ten minutes. Both were exhausted from their exertions at the ball and had now fallen into a sleepy state of calm. Harry stroked her hair gently as she laid her head upon his chest. He had one arm on the armrest and one arm behind her shoulders. Harry's smile grew uncontrollably as he felt Hermione press against him.

A small sigh escaped Hermione's lips as she tucked her legs under herself, where they disappeared under the silken fabric of her dress. Her cinnamon eyes were closed but sleep had yet to take her captive, as her mind swirled with emotions and worries.

Hermione shivered as Harry's hand left her hair and moved to her arm. He slowly dragged his fingers along her skin, igniting a burning sensation all the way down to her toes. Hermione wondered if he realized what he was doing, but she didn't care. She loved that she was so close to him. She and Harry had never been this close to each other before—so close she felt as if she could melt into him. She wasn't quite sure how she had ended up with her head on his shoulder, listening to the steady beat encased in his chest. They had been talking for maybe ten minutes when she had crossed the distance between them. Then it had been only natural for Harry to snake his arm behind her and pull her against his chest.

Tranquil as the scene was, Hermione's brain was a spinning inundation of thoughts and confusing realizations. She didn't understand why Harry hadn't asked her to the Ball. She was sure that he was about to. Hermione's mind went back to the conversation that had taken place little more than a week ago. His voiced echoed clearly in her mind as though he were speaking the words aloud to her.

_"Well, why haven't you said 'yes' to anyone?" _

_ "Because the right guy hasn't asked me."_

_ "Maybe you should ask him?" Harry said smiling charmingly. _

_ "Maybe I should since he obviously doesn't have the guts to ask me!" she laughed._

_ His face became serious. "Who is thi—,"_

_ "Will you read to me?"_

_ "What?" said Harry taken aback. _

_ "I haven't read Lesson 19 yet. Will you read it to me….?"_

Hermione shook here head slightly. She had known he was about to ask who her date of choice would be.

_'Why did I cut him off? I could have just told him it was him. He would have asked me then, right?'_ Hermione thought moodily. Saying "yes" to Ron had been hard. She had silently prayed that Harry would jump in and say he intended to ask her.

Hermione sighed and Harry tightened his hold on her. _'Harry's not like that. He wouldn't stop Ron from asking me if he thought I wanted it.'_ But she hadn't wanted it…

_'Harry can be rather dense at times. Not that it matters…'_

Hermione smiled, remembering the Ball. Everything had been like a fairy tale, despite the fact that she wasn't going to be dancing with her Prince Charming. She let a tiny smirk form on her lips, recalling how flustered Harry had looked when Ron and she had danced. Not that she enjoyed dancing with Ron; her feet could testify to that, but somewhere deep inside, she did enjoy the look of jealously his eyes held. Of course, that look had been immediately duplicated on her face when he dragged Susan onto the floor. She had to admit Susan had been positively stunning in her robes and played Harry's dancing partner very well. She hadn't been able to stop her rising anger nor the heat from blushing across her pale cheeks when she saw his arm looped around her waist and his hand cradling hers. She could dance with Harry ten times better than Susan ever could.

All that had changed when she finally freed herself from Ron to find Harry. He had disappeared and Hermione found herself worrying about him. Her only consolation lay in knowing that Susan was far away from Harry, dancing with Ernie Macmillan. But that didn't mean some other girl hadn't dragged him off somewhere. She found him near the punch bowl, mercifully alone. It was then that she had attracted his attention by moving past him and towards the silver ice sculpture shaped like a dove.

The rest of the Ball blended into a happy blur. She and Harry had danced to song after song after song, never feeling the need to take a break or leave each other's company. She had felt at home with him and everything outside the realm of his warm arms, steady hands, and laughing eyes was suddenly none of her concern. In retrospect, it was almost like she had been Harry's date, like she had wanted to be – the only difference being the confused looks and accusing stares she received as he guided her about the dance floor.

Before she knew it the Ball had ended and the world came crashing back to meet her. She had neglected Ron. He would probably have a few choice things to say to her in the morning. But not finding him, Hermione followed Harry up to the common room. It was then she did probably one of the bravest things in her life: she asked him to stay up with her.

Hermione looked up. Harry was closely examining her hair again and Hermione smiled before snuggling closer to him, glad there was no one else in the common room. She would enjoy her time alone with Harry—when his only thoughts were of her and hers of him.

She realized now with the Yule Ball over that there would be no more dancing lessons. Her heart positively shuttered at the idea. The only time she could be alone with him now was, well…never. Hermione scowled, remembering how two weeks ago Ron had started coming to her flying lessons—the time that she had once cherished as uniquely hers and Harry's. But what was more troubling was that Harry didn't seem to care. That day two weeks ago, Harry had had an Occlumency lesson and had allowed Ron to teach her instead. Without a proper excuse to cancel the lesson, Hermione had learnt from Ron. Ron wasn't a bad teacher; he was wonderful in fact, but he wasn't Harry. No one could guide her like he could, steady her as he could, or show her the enchantment of flight like he could. He was an eagle teaching a sparrow to fly… so much to learn… so much to admire…. When she thought about it, Harry was a lot like flying.

_'Scary and terrifying and reckless…but all together…exciting and wonderful and dizzying…'_

She blushed, startled by her conclusion, but in the semi-darkness of the common room no one would have noticed. She sighed lightly and focused on what had been consuming her thoughts all evening.

A secret had been burning inside her for a long time like a candle that now wanted to explode into a holocaust. She wasn't sure when it first started, but it was certainly there now, blazing steadily in her heart. _One day I'll be brave enough to tell it_, Hermione tried to convince herself. While her other half urged, _'Now's the perfect time, idiot. Tell him now.'_

Hermione shook her head slightly. She wasn't even sure exactly what her feelings were. Even if she were sure, she would be far to frightened to tell Harry, her best friend.

Harry felt Hermione shiver has he trailed his fingers down the smooth skin of her arm. He felt as if he were in a dream, some ultra-reality that defied common sense. He had an odd sense that had it not been a full moon, if the stars hadn't so bright, if the Yule Ball hadn't just taken place, and if he wasn't sitting on a comfortable couch by the fire, that Hermione wouldn't be in his arms right now. The utopian vision before him seemed too good to be true. It had haunted his every thought, filling him with a wild desire and hunger for it ever since the moment he realized his feelings for her—and here it was, right here in front of him.

The night she had cried for him—he had never known that kind of compassion… that someone could care so much for him… that they could actually feel pain for him. It had been an entirely new experience. Never having a decent family had caused Harry to accept that there was no sympathy in this world, at least none for him. He had learned to build a shield against any type of pity or concern. It was astonishing how a single tear from Hermione's eye could bring down that fifteen-year-old wall.

It startled Harry how love in the movies was so different from the real love he felt for Hermione. He had seen enough romance movies to expect something more clear and impressive, cupids-in-air kind of thing when it came to love. But with her…

Harry looked back down at the girl on his chest. He moved his hand back up her arm and wove it into her hair. She was a spectacularly annoying girl, bossy, meddling—would rather die than miss a day of school. Not to mention the fact she had most aggravating way of knowing exactly what Harry was thinking—which meant hiding anything from her was almost impossible. Her beliefs were strong even if Harry thought they were misguided and there were times Harry felt like strangling her if she tutted him one more time for turning in his homework late.

_'When did I start loving her this much?'_

Harry couldn't remember when he first realized his love for her. It had been an easy step up though between like and love. It was impossible not to love her. But now…

Harry ran his fingers through her long strands of hair. He released it from its bun and twisted the brownish-gold locks between his fingers.

Now he wished he didn't love her at all.

It is much easier to lose interest in a crush than it is to fall out of love with someone…

Harry's eyes widened, he swallowed deeply and shuddered under the weight of an unwanted revelation: he was to the point where he would rather suffer a slow agonizing death than have Hermione be in one ounce of pain. He couldn't stand it if that pain were caused by him. The conversation he had with Lupin kept playing in his mind like an incessant record on a phonograph. He would not let Hermione become a target for Voldemort. He would not let his love, or hormones, or whatever it was put her in danger. He loved her, but he would learn not to, to make sure she was always safe.

Harry could never tell her, or anyone for that matter, about the Prophecy. He would not let anyone become a pawn for Voldemort to get to him. He refused to have the guilt of putting anyone into danger on his conscience. Harry hated to admit it—but he didn't think he could survive without Hermione and Ron beside him. They had been his first and only true friends. He was already putting them in obvious danger by just being their friend. Only his selfish need for them kept him from pushing them away entirely. He hated this whole self-sacrifice thing. He would not give up his friends. He was glad Lupin didn't expect him to.

_'You can't help who your friends are and if they did know about the Prophecy they wouldn't stop being your friends.'_

Harry smiled slightly and lifted his head off Hermione's to gaze out the window. It was stupidly ironic that once Harry had found love, he would be forced to deny it. Love just always seemed like something he would never have for long— the memory of his parents and Sirius flashed before his eyes. Harry sighed at the piece of star-spangled sky he could see through the window, like flakes of snow upon a raven's wing.

He supposed tonight would be a sort of "good-bye" to his feelings for Hermione. He would insist Ron take over their flying lessons. He wouldn't make it totally obvious how close he was to her. He was sure Hermione wouldn't mind getting taught to fly by her boyfriend anyway.

Harry let another tired sigh leave his lips and he pulled Hermione closer to him, taking in her sweet scent. She smelled faintly of jasmine and something else Harry couldn't place. Hermione snuggled closer to him and Harry placed his chin atop her head, enjoying the last moments he had with her.

_'Perhaps had things been different…if there were no Prophecy…we might have had a chance together…' _ Harry thought briefly. Harry sighed one final time. But there was a Prophecy and Harry had long ago accepted that he was not normal; sometimes people can not control their destiny—Harry was among them. His destiny was to kill or be killed by Voldemort. Not to play Quidditch. Not to make good grades and become an Auror. Not to settle down with a family and be happy. Some people aren't that lucky.

He hoped Hermione would be that lucky. She deserved it.

Harry inhaled deeply, taking in the flowery scent of her hair. He had best make this quick. He lightly kissed the top of her head and loosened his grip on her.

"Hermione," Harry shook her slightly. She didn't seem to have fallen asleep because she spoke almost instantly.

"Mmm," She turned her head to look at up at him. Emerald met deep amber and Harry felt the edges of his vision blur as if his eyes only wanted to focus on her.

Harry shook his head and smiled. "It's late," he said gently, pushing her away from him and getting up. "We should both get to bed."

Hermione look startled for a moment before she smiled at Harry. "You have to go already?" Her eyes blazed with longing, though she didn't realize it.

Harry chuckled and Hermione felt goose bumps rise on her skin. "Already? It must be way past midnight, Hermione." Harry said, sitting down on the beat up coffee table in front of the couch.

Hermione smiled before puckering her bottom lip in an obvious pout. She scooted to the edge of the couch and moved to face him, her gown spreading out in silken waves behind her. "That's Harry for you. Always getting his sleep," said Hermione, her smile growing.

Harry smiled also, knowing she was kidding. She knew exactly how often Harry fell asleep in class, it was to be expected when the two had the exact same schedule.

The warm amber light from the fire shined over the plains of her face and hair, making her look warm and inviting. Harry would have loved to spend the whole night with her, but knew he mustn't. He wished he could weave his hand in her hair, stroke her back, and kiss her cheek but he knew he shouldn't. This would have to do.

Harry shook his head, still grinning. He reached both his arms out and gently took her hands, one of which was still gloved, in his own. Holding her gloved hand, he raised the other to his lips and placed a feather kiss upon the smooth skin that resided there.

"Goodbye," Harry said quietly, slowly releasing her hand.

_'Goodbye, Hermione.'_

Harry slowly stood and walked around the coffee table towards the Boy's staircase. He stopped momentarily at the foot of the banister, scooping up the tie he had laid there. He then slowly, but resolutely, made his way up.

It took Hermione a moment to overcome the shock that had seized her lungs when Harry had kissed her. It had been just a kiss on the hand, but to Hermione it meant so much more.

A sudden panic exploded within her. She had to tell him. She might never get another opportunity to be so completely alone with him.

She stood up quickly and ran to the base of the Boy's staircase, lifting her voluminous skirts as she did so.

"Harry!" she shouted. Her voice echoed up the stairway to where Harry stood on the thirteenth step. "Harry!"

Harry turned in surprise, which grew when he saw Hermione racing up to meet him. She was running so fast, Harry thought she might trip on her dress, so he met her halfway.

"What?" said Harry, stopping before her.

Hermione seized both of his upper arms for support as she caught her breath. Her heart was beating wildly in her chest, so wildly that she was afraid it would explode—but it didn't matter. She was much more afraid of what she was about to say than she was about the way her heart was acting.

"Harry," she said, gasping. "Harry…I…I—I know this is going to sound crazy, even—even I think its crazy. I know you'll be surprised. It's just that I might not have… another chance. You see—I think I was wanting to say this for a while…You just…I just…God…umm…I can't even speak!" Hermione laughed through her breathlessness. "I just…"

"Do you need to sit down?" Harry asked, placing a hand at her elbow.

Hermione's heart warmed with love at how concerned he was. She was sure it showed on her face. She was petrified to say what she was about say, but she felt as long as Harry was beside her everything would be alright. He always made everything right.

_'This is it,'_

"No—no. I don't need to sit. I can stand! You can stand…or you can sit. I don't care. I just need to tell you what I think…" She looked up at him. His brow was furrowed so that she could see his lightning-bolt scar. His green eyes were blazing and she felt her knees go unsteady. "That is…that I…"

_'Say it, damn it!'_ Hermione cursed herself.

Hermione took a deep steadying breath, but her hold on his arms remained the same. She did not move her eyes from his as she spoke her next words in a clear and shaky voice.

"Harry…I think that I…like you…"

Hermione felt the chopped words leave her lips like a feather across her skin. For a moment, it was as though Hermione had not said anything.

Hermione had stopped breathing and searched his eyes for a response. Harry's expression had not changed from the slightly confused and worried look he had worn mere seconds ago. His deep jade eyes were steady on hers and his hand still held her elbow in gentle support. The seconds seemed to stretch for hours into forever. Hermione thought she would die of anticipation…and fear.

_'Surely he should have done something by now?' _

Slowly, Harry's expression changed. Hermione watched fearfully as his furrowed brows rose up towards his hair. They went past their normal position…

_'He doesn't believe me…'_ Hermione thought as she read his expression easily as incredulity.

Harry's shocked brain had partially shut down at his best friend's confession and he was finding it hard to control his features. When his face finally decided on an expression it was pure, shocked disbelief.

Slowly, the look faded and Harry's arched brows fell to their normal place above his eyes. His face went blank. It scared Hermione more than the look of stunned disbelief he had previously worn. She couldn't read him—his eyes were empty.

Harry's grip loosened on her elbow and he let his hands fall to his side.

Silence passed between them— the only sound the distant beating of cold wind against the tower walls.

Harry swallowed.

For several long moments, the couple stood there in the shadowy stairwell, Hermione not breathing and Harry quiet.

Then, Harry carefully sidestepped her and moved down the staircase at a forced-leisurely pace. He would have liked very much to have locked himself in his dorm to think, but he couldn't leave Hermione in the cold stairwell without even an explanation. He reached the bottom of the steps, where the common room opened before him. It no longer looked warm and comforting, but he moved towards the hearth.

Harry turned and saw Hermione still in the stairwell. She had not turned around, or even moved since her confession. Her back was tense and straight, but she looked slightly unsteady. Harry was once again struck by how truly beautiful she was standing there in her bridal evening gown, one hand loosely gripping the fabric. Harry waited.

With great difficulty, Hermione held back a flood of tears pressed against the back of her eyes. Her vision was tremendously blurred and she could feel every muscle she possessed, from her toes to her face, trembling uncontrollably. Hermione blinked several times and tried not to sniff.

Of all the answers she had expected Harry to say…she had expected an answer.

She would not be ignored. Hermione had never told a man she liked him—but she would not be ignored. Her thoughts filled her with an anger that gave her the necessary strength to push back her tears.

Harry saw Hermione finally turn and found what he expected. She was angry. It showed in the dangerous spark her eyes held. The hand that had loosely held her skirts a moment ago was now fisted at her side as she descended the steps. She walked in his direction by the couch before moving past him and towards the Girl's staircase. She only met his eyes once.

Harry followed her progress. When he saw she really did intend to leave him and go to her dormitory, he called out to her.

"Hermione."

Hermione listened to his voice. He had said her name differently. It was full of sadness and remorse. It was so powerful that Hermione turned around to face him, though she had intended to leave him in the common room without a second glance.

When her eyes met Harry's, she felt her blood thicken to the texture of slush. He looked so sad—so lost, so utterly remorseful. It nearly broke Hermione's heart.

Harry lips slowly parted, but he did not move his eyes from hers.

"You don't like me."

Hermione immediately bristled at his words. He had said it so simply, so matter-of-factly that Hermione's look of concern was swept away and replaced with a look of hard disgust in an instant.

"What do you mean by that?"

When Harry didn't answer and turned his gaze to the fire, Hermione continued.

"How can you say that? You don't know how I feel about you—or anything for that matter! Did you think I was lying?! Do you think I would lie about something like that!?"

Harry cringed, not at the harshness in her voice, but at the anger that was now boiling inside him. He had just remembered something.

"Yes, you're lying!" He shouted, whipping his head back to face her.

Hermione was taken aback, but continued to stare daggers at him.

"I can't believe you would do this! To him! He's our best friend!"

Hermione's brow contracted in confusion. She felt words stutter across her lips. "I—I…what?"

"Don't act so surprised! I know! Did you really think I was _that_ dense? It doesn't hurt so much to know that you are with him—just that you lied to me. You didn't trust me enough to tell me!"

Harry lied. It hurt just as much knowing Hermione was Ron's girlfriend as it did knowing that Hermione hadn't told him.

"What are you talking about?" Hermione spat, walking around the couch towards him.

Harry jumped backwards away from her as though she were some disgusting insect.

Hermione choose to ignore this.

"I can't believe you would be this cruel! This—does he even know?!" Harry shouted. He hated that she was still pretending not to be with Ron.

"Who in the hell are you talking about!?" Hermione screamed. She was way past caring if anyone heard their conversation.

"Ron! Do you forget your boyfriend's name that easily?!"

"Boyfriend? What are you talking about?" Hermione said, her anger temporarily quelled by her confusion.

"Hermione," said Harry exasperated, "I know, ok? I _know_."

Hermione shook her head. "I don't understand…What do you know?"

Harry swept his eyes over her, taking in the gentle curve of her hips underneath her gown, the warm glow of the fire on the crook of her neck, and the look of sheer bewilderment in her eyes.

_'She really doesn't…she doesn't know?'_ Harry thought. It was impossible to misread the honesty her perplexed look held. _'That must mean…'_

"That you're Ron's—you and Ron are—are together?" Harry meant for it to sound like a statement, but it came out more like a question.

"Together? Like dating?" Hermione asked carefully. "R-Ron and I?"

Hermione was very confused. How could Harry get the idea that she was dating Ron—her best friend, besides Harry? Hermione cringed slightly at the thought.

"Well, aren't you?" Harry crossed his arms, making him look ten years younger.

Hermione almost laughed. "No, I'm not. Where would—"

"You're not?" Harry almost blurted.

Hermione smiled. So this was what was bothering Harry. He thought she was Ron's girlfriend, so he had been angry when she told him she liked him. It all made perfect sense. Harry had thought Hermione had betrayed his best friend; of course, he'd be angry.

"No, I'm not," Hermione said, coming closer to him. She smiled as she took hold of his upper arms and brought the still slightly confused Harry to her. She pressed her face against his chest, feeling absolute happiness flow to the tip of he toes. She felt his arms slip around her waist and his grip tighten on her lower back. She breathed in his warm scent. This is where she belonged.

"But—" Harry began.

Hermione rolled her eyes and tilted her head up to look at him. She unlocked her arms from behind his neck and pressed a single finger to his lips, gently.

"You don't have to worry anymore, Harry." Hermione said, her chocolate eyes glimmering in the semi-darkness the couple was surrounded in. Harry closed his eyes and placed his chin once again on the top of her softly curled hair. "You can tell me how you feel, now."

Harry's opened his eyes. _'Tell you how I feel?'_

Harry sighed and slowly released Hermione's slender waist and moved his hands to her arms. He unlocked them from behind his neck and brought them down to her side.

Hermione looked up expectantly at him.

"It's late," Harry said, releasing both of her hands and stepping away from her.

Harry watched as Hermione's brow crinkled in confusion and displeasure.

"What?" Hermione asked as Harry drew closer to the stairwell.

Harry raised a hand to his tired head and ran it through his raven locks. He was happy, beyond happy, that Hermione was not Ron's girlfriend. In different circumstances he might have been ecstatic, even euphoric. But it hadn't changed anything. He wished it had. He wished it was as simple as that.

"I said 'it's late'," Harry repeated not meeting her eyes. He wanted nothing more than to turn and run up the stairs to his dormitory, away from the look on Hermione's face.

Hermione's eyes had glazed over with confusion and underneath that Harry clearly saw hurt. He knew what she wanted to hear—what she wanted him to say… what he wanted to say. She wanted an answer that Harry was unprepared to give.

"But…" She suddenly looked very self-conscious. Her hands flew up to her bare arms as if she were suddenly naked before him. Her eyes grew unnaturally bright. She looked down and it drove a nail into Harry's heart to hear the tone of her voice.

"Aren't—aren't you going to tell me," she said, drawing her eyes up to meet Harry's, "what you—what you feel…?"

She didn't pull her deep amber eyes away from his as Harry searched his mind for what to say. What could he say? He couldn't say he liked her just as much as she liked him. He couldn't tell her he loved her.

_'If only…,'_ Harry thought miserably as he held his gaze with Hermione's.

Harry became aware of the lengthening silence between them and slowly he said the only answer he was able to give. He knew she would be hurt, but there was no way to avoid it.

"No."

Hermione stared at her best friend for several moments. "No what?"

"No, I won't tell you," Harry clarified.

"Why not?"

_'Good question,'_ thought Harry despondently.

"Because I can't,"

"Why can't you?" said Hermione, taking a step closer.

Harry's eyes narrowed on the beautiful girl bathed in the firelight before him.

_'Why did you have to make things so difficult?' _

"Damn it, Hermione! Can't you take that for an answer?! I can't tell you, alright?!" Harry yelled, walking back to her. They stopped before the large maroon couch they had previously been sitting on. Harry took her hands and tried to make her understand.

"Harry…if you don't feel the same way, you can just—just tell me," whispered Hermione, though her voice was stiff with meaning.

Harry shook his head before he could stop himself.

"I can't tell you because you wouldn't want to hear it…"

"I said it would be—" Hermione started, but was cut off.

"No."

"Well, don't I at least deserve an answer? You just don't leave a person hanging when they tell you they like you!" Hermione scowled, shaking off his hands and moving away from him, her eyes extremely bright.

Harry didn't answer. He would have loved to take her back in his arms and tell her the complete truth—about the Prophecy, about Voldemort, about how much he loved her, about how happy she could make him, about how almost every second his thoughts were controlled by her. It was too much—a burden Harry no longer wanted, but one he knew he would always carry due to the simple fact that he could never express how much he loved the girl before him. He loved her to the point of insanity. And insanity demanded he hold his tongue.

"Harry, tell _me_," Hermione pleaded, stepping towards him again and taking one of his hands. Their hands melted together like they always had, warmth trickling to Harry's fingertips. Harry gave a crooked grimace.

_'Now's the time to lie, Harry.__ Tell her you don't like her and this can be over with. It's just one lie and it will all be over…'_

Harry desperately wished he could obey his mind. His brain was being rational, but as always his heart was putting everything on the line. Harry couldn't lie to her, not about this. He just couldn't.

Hermione's grip tightened on Harry's hand. She entwined her fingers with his and did the same with his other hand. Carefully standing on her toes to reach him, she whispered in his ear, "You can."

Harry exhaled at the feeling of her feathery, warm breath along his neck. Harry shook his head and tried to slide his hands out of hers, but Hermione only gripped them tighter.

"I _can't_, Hermione."

"Why can't you?" Hermione kept him from pulling away by placing her head upon his shoulder.

Harry thought for a moment. "You wouldn't understand." It was all he could think of to say. He found it hard to think when Hermione was so close to him.

Hermione pulled away and looked him directly in the eye, sheer determination and honesty mingled into her voice. "Of course I'd understand. I've understood _everything_ you've ever told me!"

Harry shook his head. "You wouldn't understand this."

"I would," said Hermione more forcefully than before.

"You wouldn't," countered Harry.

"Harry, I would! _I swear I would!_ Why can't you tell me?!" Hermione roared, her fury reaching a peak. She pulled her hands out of his violently, scratching Harry in the process. Her chest was rising up and down as though she had just been running, her once elegantly woven hair in crazy ringlets around her slender neck, her cheeks pink and her eyes wide and determined.

Harry almost moaned at the incredible want of having her back in his arms.

Harry shook his head quickly and looked down at his shoes as though they could save him from this predicament. Harry could feel something that had been bottled inside of him begin to surface. He didn't know if it was anger, or resentment, or fear, but every emotion he was feeling seemed ready to explode.

Hermione, puzzled by Harry silence, stared at him for a moment as though he were a difficult problem she couldn't understand. She was rather confused why Harry was being so secretive and more than a little annoyed. But it didn't matter. She wanted an answer. A simple 'yes' or 'no' about how he felt would have been fine, though Hermione wasn't sure what she would do once she got her answer.

Hermione pleaded with him one more time, her patience reaching its limit. _"Harry, tell me!"_

Harry looked up from his feet and surprised her with a hard glare. His eyes were a deeper jade than Hermione had ever seen them. His muscles were tense, his jaw a hard line above his neck. She was startled, but couldn't look away.

Gathering her courage, Hermione cleared her throat. "If you don't tell me now, you might as well never tell me."

Harry's expression did not change. Hermione felt tears begin to rise in her throat again. She bit down hard on her tongue, faintly tasting her own blood. She blinked a few times, each second hoping he would say something to keep her from running to her room as a crying, miserable mess.

Hermione breathed in deeply through her nose. She moved so that she stood exactly in front of Harry so that she was as close to eye-level as she could get.

"Are you going to tell me?"

Harry shook his head almost immediately.

Hermione choked on a sob, allowing one strangled moan to rise in her throat.

Not thinking, Hermione suddenly balled one of her tiny hands and threw it into Harry's jaw, along with all her frustration, anger, confusion, and heartache. She raised her fist again, but it never made contact the second time. She felt a strong hand push hers down. Then suddenly something collided with her lips. It wasn't until another second later that Hermione realized exactly what was happening.

Harry had crashed his mouth onto Hermione's in a quick and easy motion, capturing her lips and molding them perfectly into his own. He felt Hermione gasp against his mouth, but Harry angled his head and any concern Hermione had was forgotten.

It was as though someone had turned on a light in Hermione's brain; as though she were seeing the world for the first time. Her senses heightened and suddenly the world burst into life, as if it had been dead all this time. Her heart hammered dangerously and her lungs pleaded for air—but somehow the vital need for oxygen became almost nonexistent as Harry kissed her deeper and deeper.

He weaved his hands into her brown tendrils, Hermione pushing up against him. She dug her nails into his shoulders as though he would float away if she didn't. But no matter how close she held him, she couldn't seem to hold him close enough. She ran her hands down his back, tugging at his shirt. She felt Harry shake above her and a deep moan rose in his throat.

The kiss became deeper. Harry was hungry and almost ravenous with the need to taste the girl that trembled beneath him, feeling as though he would starve otherwise. Harry quickly tried to justify what he was doing, but found that the only explanation was that if he hadn't kissed her he would have died right then out of sheer frustration. It was nothing like kissing Cho, Harry realized. His kiss with Cho had been awkward and clumsy—so unlike this one. This one seemed so natural, so right, and so perfect...

Harry cupped the back of her head in one of his hands, the other circling around her waist and pulling her fully against him. His nerves were on fire, his ears pounding with the sound of his pumping blood, a distant melody played in the background. Harry's grip tightened even more around her slender waist, crushing her against his broad chest. Hermione angled her head towards him, both bound by the strange urgency that made her pull him closer. Hermione felt as though her very bones were liquefying inside her. Soft moans escaped Hermione's lips, filling Harry with desire and compelling him to kiss her even harder so that she could scarcely breathe. Hermione clung to him, the world spinning and spinning until it unceremoniously stopped.

Harry pulled away, suddenly, gasping for air, and turned towards the fire. Hermione watched, catching her own breath and feeling as if she were being pulled apart in a million directions. She felt unbelievably happy, reliving the glorious details of what had just happened. But as the moments stretched on…in the pit of her stomach the familiar twisting feeling of fear was making its way to the surface. But it could never have drowned out the tingly warmth of pure euphoria she felt all over her skin. _Harry_ had kissed her…Harry had kissed _her_!

Hermione blushed from the bottom of her neck to the tips of her roots. But, the feeling dissolved in a single instant.

Harry had finally turned around and the look on his face nearly took away Hermione's breath all over again. The flames played off his silhouette, giving him a fiery aura. His face was set, the muscles in his jaw working—but it was his eyes… they were oddly bright, too bright in fact. It was scary; it was how Harry stared down his enemies—Hermione never thought she would be on the receiving end on one of his infamous glares. All at once she understood. This wasn't going to turn out like she expected.

"Ha…" she began. Harry's eyes narrowed and Hermione lost her voice—not out of fear, but out of fury.

Hermione released one slow breath out of her nose. They had just kissed and now he was giving her the death glare without even an explanation? Hermione wasn't used to this treatment. She was used to getting answers. But Harry wasn't some Transfiguration problem she could look up in the library to find the answer to.

Harry and Hermione glowered at each other for several long moments, different thoughts rushing through their heads but their glares of matching intensity.

Harry, having enough, straightened his back and went to the staircase. This time Hermione didn't stop him, though he could feel her eyes on him the entire way until he was above the common room and in the shadows of the narrow stairway.

Hermione stood in shock for maybe a moment or two until her brain caught up with her.

_'Something is wrong…'_

"Something is seriously wrong…" she whispered aloud.

It wasn't until another minute later, as Hermione slowly made her way up to her dormitory, that she realized her cheeks were wet with tears.

Harry leaned on the front of the 6th year dormitory door, trying to process everything that had just happened. But then, late hour was catching up with him—his mind aching from lack of sleep, his emotions drained—he didn't want to think about it, not yet—not when everything was so fresh, so painful. He'd think about it tomorrow when he could stand it.

Harry rubbed his eyes momentarily before reaching for the door handle. He was rather surprised, though he didn't know why he should be, to find Ron on the other side.

He was standing in the middle of the room, staring up at the ceiling as though he never really taken the time to look at it before. Neville, Seamus, and Dean were all off somewhere, leaving the two boys alone in the circular tower-room. Ron didn't seem to notice Harry's entrance, so Harry moved to his trunk, kicked it open, and began taking off his dress robes.

Harry turned around a moment later and found Ron facing him, a look in his eyes that was terribly unmistakable.

He knew.

Ron's eyes were a stormy hazel, devoid of any reason or understanding—filled only with unmitigated fury and pain. Harry stared at him, white as a sheet, unsure how to explain to him everything that had happened in the common room.

Ron spared him the trouble.

He was angry—beyond angry—he was beside himself with fury—but for once Ron held in his anger and used it in a more focused and effective way, a way Harry should have expected.

Ron crossed the distance between them in two long strides and for the second time that night Harry felt the sharp blow and pain of a fist colliding with his jaw. Harry stumbled backwards onto his mattress with a dull thud. He looked up, expecting more, but the dormitory was deserted, the sound of footsteps thudding down the stairs.

Harry disentangled himself from his robes, rubbing his jaw (which was now swelling on both sides), and sat on the edge of his bed. Time lengthened as he sat there thinking and staring at the stone floor. It would take days to fully understand what had happened to him—but one thing was certain—he had quite possibly just lost both his best friends in one day.

Bit depressing, huh? I mean he and Hermione finally kiss and then he gets punched—twice! Poor boy. I really am too mean to him. This chapter was **unbelievably** hard to write. I think I rewrote the entire thing maybe four times before I thought it was near decent. I still don't think it's all that decent but I've kept you waiting long enough. I am truly sorry. It has been two months and that is far too long. But finally I have no more excuses. School is over and I am free to write when I want and as much as I want! Chapters will be coming more often and I can't thank you enough for all the reviews! I have 431 reviews!! That is amazing—most authors are lucky to get 200! You all are truly the most wonderful people in the world. I told you all I would never abandon this story and I know some of you thought I had—I am sorry, but with school over things will finally start to change.

Also I have never written a kiss scene before so I'd like to give some credit to Lori who wrote Paradigm of Uncertainty. It is a wonderful H/Hr story that is very well known. I recommend it even though I haven't finished reading it. It really is very good and worth your time to read. I read one of her kiss scenes and used some of its influence in my story.

But back to the story. I know things are a bit depressing now but, well, life is depressing at times and since this is Harry Potter we're talking about there is bound to be some depressing stuff going on. Things will get better for Harry—but with Hermione…? Wait and see. Anyway, what will happen to the trio? They are going to have to spend the winter break together—that could be uncomfortable to say the least. Anyway look for a chapter in the near future—thank you all for the reviews! 431 that is amazing! I hope this chapter was sufficient. Thank you Michelle AD

· One more thing— several reviewers have mentioned that I should put this story on portkey.org. Does anyone know how to do that? If you do please e-mail me—treetop923aol.com __


	18. Black

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters mentioned in this fanfiction. Harry Potter and all characters from the Harry Potter Series are property of J.K. Rowling.  
  
New Beginnings  
  
Chapter Eighteen: Black  
  
Author's Note: Just to re-cap the previous chapter. There IS a reason why Harry glared at Hermione after they kissed. You'll find that out soon. So both Hermione and Ron are mad at Harry. Harry is angry at no one except himself and his fate. sigh On with the story.  
  


Harry awoke to the sound of Neville throwing forgotten items haphazardly into his trunk. From around the corner, he could hear Seamus yelling down the staircase to Dean that he needed help carrying his trunk. Harry lay in bed for a few moments, trying to remember why he felt as though his brain had been wrung out and beaten to the consistency of eggnog. Then in a rush, last night's events washed over him like a tidal wave.  
Harry groaned, sat up groggily, and searched for the separation between his bed hangings. Instinctively, he looked over to Ron's bed. He was mildly surprised not to find him there, though he was somewhat glad he wouldn't have to confront Ron again this early in the morning. His jaw was still slightly swollen and painful to the touch on both sides.  
He wished Hermione hit like a girl.  
Harry, who had packed before the ball, slowly eased out of his pajamas and threw on his traveling clothes that lay atop his trunk. Placing his night attire back in the trunk, Harry moved to grab Hedwig's cage. He would have to collect her from the Owlery before the Hogwarts Express arrived at eight o'clock.  
As decided long ago by those who had his "best interests at heart," Harry would be spending the holidays at Grimmuald Place along with Ron and Hermione. Already it was looking as though it wouldn't be such a Merry Christmas after all.  
  
Harry did not see Ron or Hermione at breakfast so he was forced to eat breakfast alone, though he felt he would have done so anyway even if both of them had been there. Harry slumped into a chair and looked around. It seemed as if the entire Hogwarts population was infected with an unmistakable case of Christmas cheer. There were plenty of people around him, chattering happily about what presents they hoped to receive December 25, where they were going for holiday, and what spell could enlarge the bottom a stocking.  
Harry sat idly, stirring his cereal until the milk turned the same color as the soggy flakes that floated on top. Keeping an eye out for Ron or Hermione, he listened apathetically to the Creevey brothers as they told of another adventure about their home life to anyone who would listen.  
Harry watched Parvati and Lavender seat themselves two chairs away from him, casting a meaningful look in his direction. He raised his eyebrows at them as though daring them to say "good morning." Neither of them seemed surprised to see him eating breakfast alone.  
"Interesting Ball wasn't it?" said Parvati smiling, shooting a glance towards Harry.  
"I don't know why you're so happy. Dean and you didn't even dance," replied Lavender, reaching for a banana in a golden dish.  
Parvati laughed. "I don't give a twit about Dean...and neither did David, that's why he asked me to dance."  
Harry wasn't sure who this David was, but he made a mental note to warn Dean that Parvati wasn't the most monogamous of romantic interests.  
"But still..." Parvati continued, "It wasn't like Dean even noticed I was gone. He was too busy thinking about wringing the life out of Anthony Goldstein."  
That was true, Harry thought. Dean had spent a great deal of the dance glaring out onto the dance floor where Ginny and Anthony had been.  
Lavender laughed at this. "Dean wasn't the only one wanting to wring the life out of someone."  
The two girls lowered their voices and Harry was forced to the conclusion that either they were begging him to hear what they were saying or they needed to redefine their understanding of sound vibrations.  
Either way Harry heard every word.  
"I know!" Parvati exclaimed in a carrying whisper. "The whole display with Harry and Hermione..."  
'Display?' Harry wasn't aware of any display. Harry turned away and tried not to listen.  
"Did you see the look on Ron's face? He looked really angry..."  
'He was.' Harry absently rubbed his jaw.  
"But Hermione and Harry looked kind of cute out there. I didn't know they could dance so well." Lavender said, casting a fleeting glance towards Harry as if she expected him to demonstrate.  
"I guess," Parvati agreed reluctantly, "but they spent the whole bloody Ball together! They had separate dates! But they were acting as though there wasn't anyone else in the hall!"  
Harry's eye twitched involuntarily.  
"Is that why Ron was so mad?" Lavender asked innocently. It was almost as if she wanted Harry to have no mistake about how angry Ron was.  
"It must have been," said Parvati nodding furiously. "He disappeared not too long after they first started dancing."  
"Where did he go?"  
"No one knows... But imagine...Harry stealing Ron's date, or more importantly Ron's crush! I didn't think he would do that...even if he did like Hermione..."  
"Oh please," muttered Harry, having enough. He threw down his spoon, sending flecks of milk flying towards the two gossiping girls. "This is ridiculous!"  
Maybe two dozen people swerved around in their seats to watch Harry's outburst, as if they had been expecting it.  
But Harry wasn't done yet. "We're not some bleeding soap opera, Parvati! Give it a rest!"  
Parvati looked oddly satisfied, despite having been yelled at by Harry Potter. Lavender, however, bent towards Parvati and asked, "What's a soap opera?"  
Harry pushed back the bench, making it scrape loudly across the flagstones. He seized Hedwig's cage and stormed out of the Hall, avoiding anyone's eye. He saw Susan looking at him with concern by the Hufflepuff table, but Harry couldn't meet her gaze. She probably thought everything Lavender and Parvati said was true.  
  
He strode quickly to the Owlery and found it mercifully empty. Hedwig was a bit reluctant to be put in her cage after three months of freedom, but she eventually complied when Harry threw a handful of owl treats into her cage. A little glass box on the stone ledge beside the Owlery entrance was full of owl treats to persuade averse owls to do their tasks.  
Harry made his way down the narrow spiral staircase two minutes later, Hedwig securely locked in her cage. He wondered if he would see Ron or Hermione at all until they reached Grimmuald Place. Would they avoid him on the Hogwarts Express, as well? It seemed a likely possibility...and Harry couldn't say he was too disappointed about it. He had no idea what he would say to Ron...or Hermione...  
'She must think I'm the biggest prat in all bloody England,' Harry thought as he came to out of the stairwell and began to walk towards the Gryffindor Tower to fetch his trunk. 'I kiss her... and then I give her that glare...'  
Harry sighed. But it had been necessary.  
Harry's mind flew backwards to several hours before...to when he had kissed her. Harry, having realized exactly what he was doing, pulled back from Hermione, disgusted with himself. He had promised he wouldn't get any closer to her and there he was, his tongue down her throat.  
But more importantly...he had hurt Hermione. He really hadn't expected Hermione to say she liked him. She had feelings for him and now he had hurt her.  
Harry stopped, leaned against the cold wall, and slid down, pulling his knees up to his chin.  
How had everything gone from fine to immeasurably worse in a few short hours? Harry didn't want to think about it yet...not yet...he wished he had someone to tell all this to, but Harry could think of no one now that Ron and Hermione were not going to speak to him for quite some time.  
'I wish Sirius was here...'  
"Harry?"  
Harry looked up and scrambled off the floor hastily, yanking Hedwig upwards with him. She gave an indignant sound halfway between a hoot and a squawk.  
"I was looking for you."  
"Were you?" Harry said quickly, looking up and down the corridor, anywhere except at Susan.  
"Yes," she said, twisting her fingers in front of her.  
There was a long pause. She waited for Harry to look at her.  
"I...I just wanted to tell you that...that I'm not mad at you or anything...just so you know."  
Harry finally looked at her. "Mad?"  
"Yes, well with everyone thinking you...sort of blew me off at the dance... I was just saying I don't hold any of that against you. I had a wonderful time last night...with you."  
Harry smiled somewhat awkwardly, not knowing what to say. "I—I did too." He hesitated. "But I shouldn't have...have blown you off like that."  
Susan grinned like she was hiding something. "It's quite all right. I imagine you were just a little...preoccupied."  
Before Harry could even construe what she meant by that, Susan crossed the four feet separating them and stood on tiptoe. Her lips made brief contact with his cheek before she drew back.  
Harry stared. Susan was smiling.  
"Well, that's all I wanted to say."  
"Oh..." Harry breathed, now fatally confused.  
"Yes, well I'll see you after break."  
"Yes, after break."  
She gave him one more smile, a genuine smile that lit up her whole face. "See you, Harry!"  
She pranced off. Harry watched her go as her heels clicked on the cold stone floor, her neatly plaited hair flying behind her.  
Harry raised a hand to his cheek, thinking he had had enough kissing to last him quite a while.  
  


The snow came down in lazy drifts as though it found staying in the air much more enjoyable than a monotonous existence on the chilled earth. The air was brisk and biting so that after two minutes outside one could feel one's lips chap and skin begin to tighten. It was unpleasant, but at the same time almost beautifully unpleasant. It was winter and it made no excuses for the inconvenience it caused living things. It had the inexplicable ability, however, to turn an entire ambiance into a candy shop of ice-cream and frosting. The lines of houses Harry passed were glazed over like giant gingerbread houses and frosted cupcakes. Little gingerbread shoppers could be seen hurrying into rectangular frosted cupcakes, arms laden with bags shut tight to insure no wayward flake of powdered sugar would dampen the contents within.  
Harry leaned his forehead against the glass and blew gently. A fan of misty crystal spread across the translucent surface, obscuring the view from the inside. He watched another row of flat-roofed apartment buildings fly by. Off in the distance, he could make out the slightly larger buildings that would crescendo up to the London metropolis, sparkling in the distance as though tempting the snow to try and mute its beauty.  
Harry held closely to Hedwig's cage, placed it between his legs. She was fast asleep and indifferent to the wintry, suburban vision that was moving outside the window. It had been a long time since Harry had last rode in a car and he found the whole experience rather convivial. It reminded him of the Dursleys and for some reason the thought of his relatives comforted him. He supposed that anything not connected to the situation he was in now was comforting.  
Harry peered across the Ministry car at Hermione. She was curled up on the seat directly in front of him, though as far away as possible. A book rested on her lap, its creamy pages reflecting the white light from the snow and the equally white sky. Her head was also pressed against the window, watching as rows of houses and flats passed by, interrupted by streets and stores and many an office building. She felt Harry's eyes on her. Without glancing at him inquiringly as she might have normally done, she looked down and resumed her place in the tome.  
Directly adjacent to Harry sat Ron, again, as far away as possible from Harry. His head was leaned back against the velvety, dark-green seats of the Ministry car. His slightly orangish-redish hair (it always grew lighter in the winter) was tousled and a bit wet on the edges. A snowcap was clasped in his hand along with the Quidditch magazine Beaters Weekly. His chest rose and fell evenly, but Harry knew better than to assume he was asleep. Every so often he would open his eyes, pass a glimpse at Harry, then Hermione, and then to the window. He would close his eyes a moment later, not saying a word.  
Harry returned his gaze to the window, feeling the cool glass against his forehead. It had been like this for twenty minutes now. No one speaking. No one looking up. No one meeting each other's eyes. It was quiet, and eerily so. It was almost as if someone had died. As if one word were spoken it would shatter the invisible but understood code of quiet hostility that hovered over Harry and his two best friends.  
The silence did not go unnoticed. Ginny was sitting adjacent to Hermione, Crookshanks in her lap. She was gently stroking Hermione's feline with cautious movements. Crookshanks was not the type of cat that regularly indulged in the affections of humans. Ginny had long ago fallen into silence just like Harry, Ron, and Hermione. At first, she had attempted conversation when all four of them had first settled in the car, but quickly learned she might as well have spoken with Crookshanks for all the response she got. Now she looked worriedly from her brother, to Harry, and Hermione as though expecting one of them to tell her why no one was speaking. But that's the way it remained. No one spoke in the car. No one had spoken on the train from Hogwarts.  
Harry, Ron, and Hermione had all sat in the same compartment, strangely enough, on the Hogwarts Express. Harry supposed it would have looked to anomalous to everyone else on the train if they didn't sit together. It had been a grueling five hour journey. Each person was occupied with a task that provided a shield against any conversation, congenial of hostile, making socializing unnecessary. Every so often, groups of maddeningly twittering girls would troop down the small hallway outside their compartment, peer in at the three of them, and then rush down the hall again in a new flurry of giggles.  
Yes, it was rather entertaining from the view outside. There wasn't a single cognizant student in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry who didn't believe there was now a rift between the famous, inseparable trio. Just seeing them, sitting there, not speaking was enough to confirm everyone's suspicions that there had been some horrible row between the three of them. There was also much speculation as to how Harry's jaw had become slightly tinted to the color of eggplant. Some believed it was Susan who had done him in. No doubt furious with Harry for blowing her off. Others believed it was Ron, and rightly so. No one yet had risen to the theory that it had been Hermione who had swollen one side of his jaw twice its normal size. But whoever punched who was unimportant. What was important was that the school's most indissoluble of friends had been split apart by the events of the Yule Ball.  
What angered Harry most of all was not the fact that they were no longer speaking, but rather that they were not speaking for such a ridiculously childish reason. There was so much teenage angst and drama between them that Harry was finding it more and more absurd. Yes, he had kissed Hermione. She had kissed him back. And both Ron and Hermione had punched him. But this wasn't about who stole whose date to the Ball. This was about the Prophecy, something of more cataclysmic importance than any ball. Harry wished for nothing more than to tell them all about the damned Prophecy. In light of such a confession, he doubted they would stay mad at him for long. But...Harry couldn't jeopardize their safety just so he could have someone to talk to over Christmas break.  
It was for this same reason that Harry had glared at Hermione soon after their kiss. Harry's mind flew backwards to several hours before. His mind had been spinning uncontrollably. There seemed to be too much blood flooding his brain, making it impossible to think clearly. The only thing that had been clear was that he had to do something so Hermione wouldn't think he liked her. Words seemed overrated, or rather, impossible; his lips were still tingling from the feel of her lips against him. So instead, he had mustered all the self-control he had left and turned to face Hermione. He made it spectacularly obvious that he wanted nothing more to do with her and she had responded wonderfully. Now he they both hated each other, supposedly. Harry hated her no more than when he first realized he loved her. Nothing had changed. But the excruciating emptiness he felt at denying his feelings for her had been more powerful than he expected, especially since her emotions were so blatantly obvious and appealing. He could have easily told her he loved her, right then. They could have snogged until bloody doomsday. But, once again there was the Prophecy to consider. So there it was. Harry's best friends hated him for protecting their lives. Go figure.  
Harry returned his gaze to the window. They were now very near the heart of London. The buildings were taller, the streets narrower, the trees smaller. Shoppers rushed hurriedly from corner to corner. Horns blared, laughter rang through the streets like bells, and the whole of London was alight with holiday spirit. Harry was grateful for the noise; it would make the silence inside the car not as overpowering as it had once been. Suddenly their Ministry car turned dangerously into the adjacent lane, getting several honks and finger gestures from disgruntled drivers, and then squeezed itself into a tiny alleyway between two buildings. Harry sighed. Perhaps he didn't find riding in a car as comforting as he had previously thought. They emerged from the alleyway at a speed too fast for anyone's comfort. Off in the distance Harry could see a brown patch of houses and flats. That was where Grimmuald Place Number 12 stood, with the dingiest of settlements in a three mile radius.  
  
  
  
"Ginny! Put that down this instant!" Molly Weasley rushed toward her bemused daughter who had been attempting to unload her heavy trunk from the back of the Ministry car. The driver was occupied extricating Harry's and Ron's trunks and placing them on the curb. He had been a little unsure as to the destination of his passengers until Tonks, who had picked them up at the train station, assured the driver that the empty lot between Grimmuald Place 11 and 13 was, in fact, the proper location. He directed their trunks, which he levitated with his wand, onto the curb.  
"Will ya need help gettin' them in ma'am?" said the driver, gesturing to the Ron's trunk with his cap which he had removed to shake off the excess amount of snowflakes that had settled there.  
"No. No, we can manage," said Mrs. Weasley distractedly. She levitated Ginny's trunk out from the boot of the car and placed it with the others.  
Harry, Ron, and Hermione remained on the curb, not speaking. Hermione was clutching Crookshank's overlarge wicker-basket-cage in one hand, her book in the other. Ron was staring about at the other houses surrounding the lot. The houses looked rather depressing. The snow did not powder them like frosted cupcakes like the houses on the outskirts of London, but rather seemed to dampen them past their usual derelict quality. Harry could hear a Muggle television blasting from within Grimmuald Place Number 11. Across the street, a woman in a bathrobe with lime curlers in her hair gave them an antagonistic look before placing a garbage bag into a bin.  
Mrs. Weasley placed several Sickles into the palm of the driver's hand. There was an awkward silence. The driver was obviously curious as to which house they would enter, since they couldn't possibly inhabit an empty lot.  
Mrs. Weasley gave him a forced smile which Harry could tell she was trying to make look friendly. "Well, thank you...er..."  
"Walter, ma'am."  
"Walter," Mrs. Weasley said kindly. "We are no longer in need of your services."  
Walter fumbled to remove a set of keys from his coat pocket. "Yes...yes ma'am." He touched his cap to Mrs. Weasley and shot a glimpse at Harry's forehead. Ron rolled his eyes.  
Once Walter had safely disappeared down the street, Harry turned and gazed up at his inherited home. It seemed to have grown taller since the last time he had seen it. The same dark brown stone that made up the walls, the same dingy windows caked with frost, and the same unwelcoming air that surrounded it like fog.  
  
The inside could not have been more different. It seemed Mrs. Weasley had gone all out with the Christmas decorations. The huge crystal chandelier that was usually bedecked with cobwebs was now adorned with long streamers of gold and red. Every candle was lit and shone proudly in each individual candle holder. The threadbare rugs had been replaced with a long entrance way rug that was a festive deep green. Garlands of evergreen branches were woven in between the bars of the banister until they disappeared into the upper floors. The hallway was made even more cheery due to the disappearance of almost every single dark-themed or Dark-Arts- related memorabilia that had once hung on the walls. Mrs. Weasley's enchanted clock that pointed to where various members of her family were located, now hung by the door leading to the kitchen. Ron's and Ginny's hand had now moved to "home."  
"It's beautiful, Mrs. Weasley!" Hermione said empathically, setting down Crookshank's basket.  
Ron was twisting his head so he could peer up at the chandelier. "Wow, Mum!"  
Mrs. Weasley blushed slightly. "We just wanted Harry's home to nice for Christmas," she said, smiling.  
Harry didn't know what to say, touched by this statement. He smiled at her while Ron asked, "We?"  
"Yes. Fred and George actually bought all the decorations. I just put them up. They've been working hard to make this place livable."  
Harry felt a rush of gratitude towards the twins. They had fixed up Grimmuald Place even though it was not their home.  
"Leave your cloaks on the pegs, dears. Dinner should be ready in an hour or so. I'll let you go up and get settled." She left them there in the entrance hall with one last smile at the four of them.  
Ginny stepped onto the first step of the staircase, smiling cheerfully at the improved entrance way. "Great, huh?"  
All three nodded, not speaking. Ginny looked at them half curiously, half annoyed. He could tell that the silence was beginning to get to her. "You know, you three..." she began.  
There was a sound from two floors above and then two large CRACKS that sounded almost simultaneously. Fred and George Weasley appeared next to Ginny on the stairs and she nearly fell over with shock.  
"George!" she said angrily. "Fred! We're back two minutes and you have to scare the wits out of us already?"  
"Not us. Just you," said George, smiling with his infamous Weasley twin grin. Harry and Hermione were laughing; Ron rolled his eyes, but grinned.  
"Glad you four are back," said Fred brightly, bending down to kiss his sister's cheek. "It gets a bit dull with just Order wizards to talk to."  
"You're in the Order," Harry pointed out.  
"Yes, and we get quite dull after a while, as well," George said, grinning.  
Hermione laughed. "You two boring," she said, sounding as if she had never heard of such a thing. "A little boring might do you two some good."  
"Haven't changed much have you, Hermione?" Fred said shrewdly.  
"Yes, well best get these trunks upstairs," said George whipping out his wand. "You preteens can't use your wands yet. We wouldn't want you gettin' letters from the Ministry."  
Fred and George levitated their four trunks and together they set off, up the stairs. They stopped at Hermione's and Ginny's room first and then moved further down the second floor corridor until they came to Harry's and Ron's room.  
The room was quite how he remembered it. The deep red draperies, the same rich bed curtains, and the same plush rug in the center of the room. The portrait of Phineas Nigellus was missing its occupant. The walls had been re-papered. The cherry wardrobe was filled with bed sheets and heavy woolen blankets. It was a bit drafty and Harry was grateful for the thoughtfulness of Mrs. Weasley, who had no doubt provided them.  
"Good job with the decorations," Ron was saying as George directed Harry's trunk to foot of his bed.  
"Eh," said Fred offhandedly.  
"How's the shop coming?" Harry said, attempting to create conversation while he unpacked.  
"Tis profitable," said Fred smiling.  
"I daresay with Christmas coming we'll see an upsurge in orders. You won't believe the demand there is out there for Vomit Pellets and Diarrhea Delights."  
"Diarrhea Delights?" said Ron looking positively appalled.  
"Yeah, you know. For the in-laws," said Fred shrugging.  
Harry laughed. He had quite enough experience with detestable relatives. "Business must be good judging by the look of the house."  
"Nah, mate," said George. "Good old-fashioned Cleaning-spells can go a long way. A little elbow grease. A little wave of the wand. Good as new."  
"But all the stuff. I can't thank you..." Harry started.  
"Don't think a thing of it," Fred cut in. "We live here too, you know. We don't want to be looking at its dingy walls year round either."  
Harry knew he was just trying to direct attention away from his generosity.  
"You all must be glad to be back. Mid-year exams go all right?" said George, leaning against Harry's footboard.  
"Eh, all right. The year hasn't been too bad," said Ron, pulling out a scarf from his trunk and throwing it on the bed. "Nowhere near as bad as last year."  
Harry nodded.  
"Yeah, well. Sixth year always was a breeze." George looked wistfully over at Fred. "Wouldn't it have been great if every year was sixth year?"  
Fred nodded taking two blankets from the wardrobe. "How was that...what was it? The Yule Ball...how was that?"  
Harry felt heat rise up his neck. He looked quickly over at Ron, who looked as though he'd just swallowed an ice cube.  
"Yeah," said George, getting off Harry's footboard and taking one of the blankets from George. "You never told us about that. We heard there was going to be one. Too bad we didn't have one last year for our seventh year...not that last year was much fun. Umbridge probably would have passed a decree saying dancing was outlawed in Hogwarts...Who were your dates?"  
Harry tensed and again looked to Ron. His back, however, was facing him.  
"Hermione," said Ron. His voice sounded a bit...clenched.  
Fred's eyes widened. "Really?" Then he smiled. "How ever did you manage that?"  
Harry could see that the back of Ron's neck was steadily becoming the same color as his hair. Ron, however, merely shrugged.  
"I asked her and she said 'yes'."  
Fred frowned.  
"Who was yours, Harry?" asked George spreading the blanket over Harry's narrow bed and tucking in the ends.  
Harry hesitated. "Susan Bones."  
"The shy girl from the D.A?" Fred asked. "She seemed rather nice."  
"She is," said Harry.  
"Were you really able to tell?" said Ron. "I doubt that you spent enough time with her to find out."  
Harry met Ron's eyes, feeling wary. 'At least we're talking about it.'  
There was awkward pause. Fred and George shared a confused glance. Ron continued to stare at Harry.  
"Ok," said Fred, drawing out the word to illustrate his confusion. "Well, I guess we'll go help Mum with dinner. We'll have a lot of company I 'spect."  
There was a loud CRACK and Fred and George disappeared, leaving Ron and Harry alone.  
Harry held Ron's gaze for a moment, unsure what to do. He turned back to his trunk and removed several schoolbooks.  
He heard Ron return to his trunk a moment later, removing things and dumping them out on the bed more forcefully than required.  
After a moment Harry said, "Is that what's bothering you, Ron? That I spent most of the dance with Hermione?" He looked up. "I just want to know exactly what you're mad about."  
Ron inhaled deeply through his nose and placed a pair of jeans atop his bed. Then he met Harry's gaze. "No. What's got me more concerned is that...you've never danced before in your life. Except for that one time in fourth year at the first Yule Ball." He took several steps toward Harry so that they were almost nose to nose. "Tell me, Harry. How is it that you have become such a good dancer when you certainly haven't been practicing? What changed?"  
Harry stared blankly at him, numbly surprised that Ron had picked up on his new skill. Then, Harry mentally smacked himself. He had improved very much, thanks to Hermione's coaching. It was stupid to assume that Ron wouldn't notice.  
Harry opened and closed his mouth several times, unsure as to what to say. Ron couldn't know about the dancing lessons. If he was mad now he would surely be furious after Harry admitted he had lied to him for four months about seeing Hermione in private.  
Harry decided to dodge that question. "Is that why you're mad? Because I can dance well?"  
Ron blinked. "No, that's not all. The Ball ended at eleven. You didn't come up to our dorm for at least another hour. Were you perhaps a little too occupied to come upstairs?"  
Harry blushed, something that rarely ever happened to him. "I...I...I thought you knew...?"  
Ron arched one of his eyebrows. "Knew what?"  
"That...Hermione and I..."  
Ron was looking at him with increasing shrewdness.  
Perhaps he didn't know what had taken place in the common room. Perhaps he hadn't seen the kiss or the fight that preceded it. The look on Ron's face when he had punched Harry had looked so dreadfully angry that Harry had simply assumed that he must have seen what had happened. He never imagined that Ron could be so mad just because he had a few dances with Hermione.  
There was a knock at the door at that precise moment and Harry felt as though his legs turned to water out of sheer relief.  
Hermione opened the door cautiously and peered in at the two of them. Her expression was unreadable as she saw them in such a close proximity. The three of them were silent for a moment, and then Hermione spoke.  
"Supper will be ready in ten," she said lightly. "Mrs. Weasley said you should wash up."  
She left, not sparing either of them so much as a by-your-leave glance.  
  


Dinner was always a noisy affair especially around Christmas. More people than expected crowded into the cavernous kitchen, the aromas of savory cooking wafting into the entire house. Someone had dangled holly and mistletoe all over the arched ceiling, giving off the impression that you were eating under a brightly colored bush. A mish-mash of tables had been set together in a ring, long white tablecloths draped over each one.  
Their dinner guests poured in at different intervals all looking windswept and cold, but content to sit down and bring a plate of Molly's cooking to their noses, scarf down insane amounts of pudding and turkey, and gurgle glass after glass of tea and mead. At first, it had been just Mrs. Weasley, Fred, George, Ginny, Ron, Harry, and Hermione. Mr. Weasley arrived not long after, giving his wife a kiss on the temple and shaking Harry's and Hermione's hands enthusiastically. Tonks arrived two minutes later. She had changed her appearance since the last time they'd seen her. At the train station she had been a wispy looking spinster with a kerchief over her head. Now she looked somewhat normal; her hair, however, was a festive red and green. She greeted them all, sitting down by Ginny and Hermione. Bill and Charlie joined the group just as Harry was finishing his salad.  
"Harry!" said Charlie spotting him in between George and Tonks. "Long time since I saw you!"  
He had the same cheery disposition; his hair looked slightly washed out and there were bags under his eyes that hadn't been there two years prior. He engaged Harry in conversation as he helped himself to globs of potato salad.  
Harry learned that he was on vacation from Romania. After that, Quidditch predictably became the topic of conversation between the two famous Hogwarts Seekers.  
Lupin entered the kitchen ten minutes later to the sound of boisterous greetings from everyone at the table. His graying hair was windblown and stood up on one side. He removed his cloak and sat down next Arthur Weasley.  
"You're late, Remus," said Mr. Weasley jovially, passing Lupin a bread basket full of buttered rolls.  
"Yes, well. Life of a teacher," said Lupin, meeting Harry's eyes and smiling. "So many bloody mid-year exams to grade."  
Hermione perked up when she heard this. "The mid-terms! Professor, have you graded mine? How did I do? That one question about the Reduction of Defenses I was unsure about. I couldn't remember if it only worked when the person meant you ill-will or if it worked in all cases."  
Lupin sighed, though he was smiling. "Hermione, do you really have to ask? I always grade yours first just so I can laugh at all the ones that follow."  
Hermione blushed, but she looked pleased.  
Mad-Eye Moody appeared half-way through dinner looking just as grisly and forbidding as ever. He did, however, show some contentment when he helped himself to some of Mrs. Weasley's pudding, his magical eye whizzing around in its socket excitedly.  
The last to arrive was Mundungus Fletcher. Though Mundungus had always possessed an unclean appearance, Harry was taken aback by how truly awful he looked. His hair was ragged and matted in places. Deep purple circles surrounded his beady eyes and it looked as though he had not shaved in a weeks. His clothes hung off him a bit too easily. He had obviously lost quite a lot of weight in a short period of time. He looked tired and barely said a word as he sat down and pulled a plate of stuffing to his nose and began to eat.  
Conversations criss-crossed across the tables left and right. Hermione was in deep conversation with Tonks and Ginny. What they were talking about Harry couldn't tell, but every so often they would erupt into giggles and then fall silent amongst themselves again. Mad-Eye was listening with one ear to Charlie as he whispered something in his ear. By the look of it, whatever they were talking about was a grave subject indeed. Moody's eye kept swiveling around at those seated at the table. Harry felt that eye pass over him a bit too often and he did his best not to look in their direction. Mr. Weasley and Professor Lupin were in heated argument over the Reunification Act with Mrs. Weasley. The act had recently passed in Italy and some hoped to bring it to the United Kingdom. It would reunite the Muggle and the magical worlds together as one. Supporters said it would provoke unity between the worlds and a free-flowing system of beliefs and ideas could pass between the magical and non-magical. Mrs. Weasley, along with many other wizards, strongly opposed the legislation.  
"You just can't have Muggles waltzing up and down Diagon Alley buying love potions and who knows what else!" she said, waving her index finger at Professor Lupin and her husband. "There's a reason why we're separated! It's for our protection and more importantly theirs! They don't need to know about us...besides Muggles outnumber wizards five to one. What if they don't react positively to the revelation that there is a whole other world out there? They'd probably want to enslave us so we could perform magic tricks for them and give them leg-shaving potions!"  
"Now that is preposterous, Molly!" Mr. Weasley was saying. "There is so much we can learn from them. Have you heard of this thing called the In- tire-net? It's some form of mass communication that Muggles use to share ideas. Imagine! That much information floating around and anyone can use it! Beside the point, there is so much we could do to help them! Millions of Muggles are dying of diseases we cured ages ago! You want all of them to die, Molly! Think about wizards whose parents are Muggles!"  
Lupin was nodding, much calmer than his red-headed dinner companions. "Think about witches like...Hermione." He lowered his voice. "Would you say it's fair for her parents to die of a disease that we could cure in two minutes just because it is illegal for us to perform magic on Muggles?"  
"That is a different case entirely. Muggles are treated in St. Mungo's for stuff all the time."  
"Molly," said Mr. Weasley sounding exasperated, "you know as well as I do that Muggles are only treated in St. Mungo's if they have suffered some magical injury. A Muggle can't just walk in and say, 'Could you cure my leukemia for me? Thanks.' He'd get thrown out of there before you could say 'Quidditch.' Poor dear..."  
Bill and Fred were in a heated debate about what else? — Quidditch.  
"Oh c'mon! Bulgaria hasn't got a chance in hell anymore! Not since Krum left! Sure they got that new guy...what's his name?"  
"Dragomir," Bill said tartly, crossing his arms over his chest.  
"Yes, yes. Dragonmite. The point is he can't touch Krum's skill with at 14 foot broomstick. Since Krum traded over to Estonia, Bulgaria has no hope. Let's face it. They didn't have much of a team even with Krum on it. Beaters...they were horrible. Couldn't hit a Bludger if it was wrapped in neon lights and sang 'God, Save the Queen!' at the top of its voice." Bill's expression was growing sourer by the second. Fred continued. "You want to talk Beaters? The Americans. They have the two best Beaters I've ever seen."  
"Well, then you must not have seen too many talented Beaters," said Bill. "What are their names again?"  
It was Fred's turn to frown. "Davidson and O'Donnell."  
"Right. Well, they're all right but they have no sense of strategy. They'd hit anything that's round, black, and moves. Sure they can hit, but half time they hit their own people!"  
"Not so!" said Fred heatedly. "Davidson has the best backhand swing in the entire league! Not to mention Davidson and O'Donnell could be twins with the way they communicate with each other. It's like they read each other's minds! I tell you! England had best watch out for the Yanks this year."  
"Those bloody colonists haven't won a Cup in what...42 years! No, I say the best team, besides England of course, is definitely going to Spain. They've got that new Keeper Perez."  
"Spain?" said Fred indignant. "You think Spain's got a chance? Yeah, when snitches fly out of my arse..."  
  
Harry heard a voice much closer to his propinquity. "So you never did tell me what you thought I knew."  
Harry turned away from Fred and Bill's conversation. Ron had seated himself across from Harry.  
"Huh?" said Harry, acting as though he had not heard Ron's request.  
Ron leaned closer. "You never told me. You know...you said you thought I knew something." Ron did not appear to be looking for a fight or trying to get on Harry's case. Perhaps he was asking Harry this now because it was less likely that they would blow up at each other if they were in public. Still, Harry felt it would be very ill-advised to answer Ron's question. As far as Ron knew, Harry and Hermione had only shared a few dances and a glass of punch. Harry had the distinct feeling that Ron wouldn't react well to the knowledge that he and Hermione had kissed.  
"Oh," said Harry slowly, casting about for a way to divert his answer. He looked over at Hermione who was still talking animatedly with Ginny and Tonks. "It was nothing."  
"No, no. Go on and tell me," said Ron sweetly, something that Ron hardly ever was—at least not since he was seven. "I asked you why you didn't come up to the dorm right after the dance ended. And you said, 'I thought you knew.' And I said, 'Knew what?' And then you said, 'Hermione and I...' and then Hermione knocked on the door. So go ahead and tell me."  
Harry raised one of his eyebrows. Damn him and his perfect memory.  
"C'mon Harry. Tell me. I can handle it."  
"We...we just talked." Harry could feel himself blushing again, making it painfully obvious that there was more to the story.  
"Oh, is that all?" Ron grinned. "Well, there's nothing weird about that, is there? By the way you were acting I thought you had kissed her or something."  
For the first time in Harry's life he wished he was a good actor. Harry flushed an even deeper shade of red and looked down at the table. He should have expected what happened next.  
Ron stared at him for a moment, his eyes widening to the size of dinner plates. "My...God. You did, didn't you? You kissed her! You kissed her, didn't you?" Ron said this in an almost hushed whisper. When Harry didn't say anything, Ron opened and closed his mouth several times. Then his eyes narrowed slightly and his face became red as well, for an entirely different reason than Harry's. Harry could see Ron's hands shaking as he gripped the table tightly. Suddenly Ron gave a half grunt, half cry of I- don't-believe-it and stood up.  
"You kissed her!" he bellowed, the sound echoing off the high ceiling and stone walls.  
Harry stood up just as suddenly. His chair tipped over at the unexpected movement, but Harry barely heard it. He could feel a drumming in his ears. "I never said that!"  
Every one of the twenty eight eyes in the room, thirty counting Crookshanks, was now staring at Harry and Ron. Even Mad-Eye Moody's electric blue eyeball swiveled upwards to watch the exchange.  
"But you did, didn't you?" Ron bellowed back at him.  
Harry could feel Hermione's eyes on him, but stared determinedly back at Ron. He couldn't deny it, so why even try?  
The seconds stretched by, everyone frozen. Mr. Weasley's fork, laden with rice, was halfway to his mouth, Tonks' finger was entwined in her hair, fixing a spike that had been drooping, and Bill's hand was still pressed to the table, demonstrating a difficult Quidditch play to Fred on the tablecloth.  
Ron's upper lip was twitching in disgust and, Harry realized a moment too late, hurt. No, it wasn't hurt. It was betrayal. Complete, utter, and unprovoked betrayal.  
The sound of incensed anger erupted from Ron's throat and he turned away from Harry and strode out of the room, slamming the kitchen door behind him.  
Harry stared at the place where Ron had been, his face still unnaturally hot. A few moments later he turned to the others who were all staring at him with confused looks and raised eyebrows. The only one who was not looking at him was Hermione, who was staring at her plate, her bushy hair hanging like a curtain around her face.  
Harry racked his mind for an excuse to leave the table, but then realized he didn't need one. Harry slowly bent down, picked up his chair, set it in its place, and headed towards the door.  
"Thank you for dinner, Mrs. Weasley," Harry said as he passed her. Harry did not find relief from their stares until he was safely in the narrow stairway that led up to the foyer. Behind him, he heard someone in a muffled voice, it sounded like Fred, say "What the hell was that about?"  
  
Harry eventually climbed the steps to the second floor, heading for his bedroom. It was growing steadily darker outside and Harry guessed it was nearly half past seven in the evening. He stopped outside his door; a yellow beam of light flooded into the corridor. Ron was inside. Harry sighed, thinking it best not to approach Ron until both of them had time to gather their wits and think rationally.  
At least he knows now, thought Harry as he turned and walked quietly to the third floor stairway at the end of the corridor. At the top of the stairs there were three doors. The one to the left was the drawing room; in the middle was the room Buckbeak had once occupied. But to the right was a room Harry had never entered. Half out of curiosity and half wanting to distract himself from the situation with Ron, Harry opened the door. It whined loudly on its hinges. It had not been oiled in a very long time. A rather spacious room lay behind the door shrouded in darkness like a burial cloth. Harry spotted a lantern set on a small end table just inside the door. Harry turned the gasket. The flame sputtered and than grew until it illuminated the room with a soft yellow glow.  
Getting a better look, Harry realized what the room must be, or rather whose room it must have been. It was untouched and Harry knew why. There was a very rickety looking bed in one corner, the sheets unmade and a moth-eaten quilt trailing on the floor. Next to the bed were two end tables in a similar condition as the bed. One held a lamp without a lampshade, the other a book, open in the middle. On the left wall there was a dusty old wardrobe, open and revealing its contents, or rather, its lack of contents. A cloak hung on the peg inside along with an old scarf patterned with the Gryffindor colors. The wallpaper was peeling near the molding at the top of the walls.  
Harry realized his chest had tightened up as he walked about his godfather's room. It was so very Sirius Black, simple and functional, with little hints of the life he had led only six months ago.  
Six months. Had it only been that long? It seemed much longer. He walked slowly to the wardrobe and pushed back the other mahogany door. Behind it was a chest of drawers. Harry opened the first and found socks. The rest of Sirius's clothing was in the remaining drawers. Except for the fifth, the drawer at the very bottom. Harry fell to his knees, sending little flurries of dust jumping off the floor. He slid out the drawer. It, unsurprisingly, was very unorganized, full of papers and books and pictures. Harry picked up a thick volume that looked something like a yearbook with the Hogwarts crest stamped in front. Putting this aside, Harry shifted through papers and pictures, all mish-mashed together in no particular categorization. Harry saw a Certificate of Ownership for one flying motorcycle, a roll of heavy parchment that was his Hogwarts diploma, and a photo album full of wizard pictures from Sirius's days at Hogwarts.  
Not wanting to look at all this now in the shadowy light of his dead godfather's space, Harry put aside the yearbook and the photo album, and began returning all Sirius's documents back into the drawer. He was just about to close it when a photograph, settled atop a corsage of dead flowers, caught his attention. It was of a little boy not more than a year old, complacently sucking his thumb in a rhythmic motion, fast asleep. Harry picked it up slowly. There was something familiar about the boy. He had such a small face...little ears, little nose, little mouth and fingers, and little eyelashes. He looked blissfully unaware of his surroundings, his chubby cheeks moving slightly as he dribbled all over his thumb. It was an old picture, somewhere between ten and twenty years. Harry studied it for a moment, trying to place what exactly was so intriguing about the boy. Sirius had never had a son. Nephew, perhaps. Harry flipped to the back of the picture. He stared at it dumbly for a moment, the realization hitting him like a dumb weight. To Uncle Sirius from Harry, underneath that, in curvy handwriting, was the date. Valentine's Day 14/02/1981.  
Harry smiled at the caption. He knew it was written by his mother for some reason. He had barely been sixth months old when this picture was taken. Harry flipped back to baby Harry. He looked so innocent. So vulnerable. No lighting-bolt scar cut into his forehead. His smile grew as he saw his infant-self silently blowing bubbles of saliva.  
"Stop drooling, Harry," sixteen-year-old Harry said to his younger self. The baby gave a silent coo and returned his thumb to his mouth. Harry placed the picture in between the pages of Sirius's year book and looked about the room one last time.  
When he had a better chance Harry would come explore his godfather's bedroom more carefully. He knew the Weasleys had left it untouched for Harry's benefit. He liked the room despite its somewhat dank atmosphere. It wasn't like Sirius to care much about his living space, the man had lived in caves for almost a year, mind you. But the room was somehow comforting to Harry. It looked like Sirius, it smelled like Sirius. It was almost as if Harry expected to see Sirius walk through the door any moment to tell him to go to bed.  
Harry swiped at his eyes and looked towards the window. He blinked, seeing something lying on the sill that he did not see upon his first perusal of the room. Harry walked forward and peered down at the object. Harry's heart literally clenched. A cool chill fluttered down his spine as though someone had placed a hand on his back. With trembling hands, Harry picked it up. It was the mirror Sirius had given him last Christmas almost exactly one year ago. Harry stared at it, something welling up inside of him. Harry remembered how desperately he had yelled into his own mirror, calling for Sirius over and over and over. But no answer had come. None. Suddenly his chest hitched with the forgotten and ignored grief Harry had pushed down for six months. Horrified, Harry set down the mirror and strode quickly away, cursing his eyes for being so wet. He bent down and picked up the yearbook and album, straightened, extinguished the lamp, and left the room walking as quickly as he dared.  
  
It was now Wednesday and Harry deduced things could have been worse. Harry and Ron weren't speaking. Harry and Hermione weren't even looking at each other and as far as Harry knew, neither were Ron and Hermione. The Weasleys and others in the house obviously noticed something was amiss. It was almost a daily competition among the trio of who could engage Fred, George, and Ginny in conversation. They were rather bemused by the abundance of hostility between the three former-best friends, but choose not to comment on it. The reason Harry thought things could have been worse was because he, so far, had no additional injuries besides the two blows to his jaw.  
Harry hoped Christmas might give them all a chance to reconcile. It was, after all, the season of wonder and miracles and that was precisely what Harry needed.  
Order wizards were popping in and out of the house day and night. Sometimes they would come to chat. Sometimes they'd come in an agitated state, asking to see Mrs. Weasley or some other member of the Order. A number of times Mundungus had graced them with his presence. One memorable visit from Mundungus had included two large crates of butterbeer that Mundungus insisted he had bought for their use, Mrs. Weasley's accusations of stolen merchandise, and a rather hilarious fight that erupted soon after. Tonks and Professor Lupin helped Harry, Ron, Hermione, Fred, George, and Ginny hang Christmas lights in the dinning room and outside along the roofing. Lupin also transfigured a flock of Doxies into shimmering fairies and immobilized them in the foyer so that they floated zanily about in the air.  
Harry presently stood in the third floor drawing room with everyone else that inhabited Grimmuald Place Number 12. A large evergreen tree, so large that it scraped the ceiling, stood in front of him. Its spicy yet refreshing aroma was putting Harry in a festive mood and as Fred and George carried up boxes of Christmas decorations, Harry was excited to begin. They would be trimming the tree for Christmas, which was three days away. Mrs. Weasley whipped out her wand, muttered a spell, and the room filled with the sound of Christmas carols. There was a rush to empty the boxes, everyone clamoring for the best ornaments. Tonks emerged from the tussle holding up a cardboard star sprinkled with glitter shouting, "I got the star! I got the star!"  
Harry seized a few baubles from one box and a long garland of tinsel and began to decorate. It was a messy affair. There was no predetermined plan for how the tree should be festooned, however, no one seemed to care. Over the carols, there was laughter and general merriment as the house members descended on the tree.  
"Give me the bloody pinecone you git!" Ron was shouting as he tried to tackle Fred to the ground for his favorite ornament.  
"Oh, Ginny! Remember this one!" said Mrs. Weasley said, smiling fondly at her daughter. She was holding an ornament that Harry assumed was Ginny's attempt at Father Christmas with Popsicle sticks. Ginny blushed as her mother placed the ornament on a high branch.  
Mr. Weasley arrived in the drawing room five minutes later carrying a large bowl of popcorn. Ginny positively shrieked with happiness. Soon all the Weasley's began grabbing fistfuls of inflated kernels from Mr. Weasley, even Ron forgetting about his pinecone.  
Harry looked curiously at Tonks, who shrugged. Bill emerged from the crowd, hands full to bursting with popcorn.  
"What's all that for?" said Tonks, looking curiously at Bill.  
Bill picked up a kernel and said, "Watch." He placed the popcorn in one hand and cupped the other on top. He closed his eyes and said, "Estraellie!"  
When Bill opened his hands the popcorn was gone. In its place was a beautiful yellow-gold bead shaped like a star. It looked to be made of glass. All around the room the Weasleys were transforming their own popcorn into stars.  
"What is that?" said Tonks amazed, picking up the bead between her thumb and index finger.  
Bill shrugged. "Magic popcorn. It's a simple transfiguration spell I think. You just need the incantation. We'll string them on the tree later."  
  
Soon everyone had transformed every kernel of popcorn into the glass beads that had appeared in Bill's hand. Mr. Weasley whipped out his wand, saying a spell that sent everyone's beads flying into the air. For a moment it was though a star-spangled sky had lowered itself from the heavens for the occupants of the drawing room to enjoy. Then, Mr. Weasley guided them into a line with a wave of his wand. They aligned perfectly. Mrs. Weasley levitated a long string of twine that shot through the stars creating a long strand of tinsel. Soon everyone was grabbing a part of the garland and draping it across the branches of the evergreen. The remainder of the baubles, ornaments, and mementos of the Weasley children's youth were soon placed on the tree as well.  
Harry stepped back, satisfied with their efforts. It was the munificent gift of the Christmas tree that no matter how lame your ornaments were, the tree was still breathtakingly beautiful in the end. Lupin transformed another group of Doxies into illuminated fairies. He placed them in the between the branches and finally it was Tonk's moment of honor. She levitated herself to the top of the tree, her face contorted in fierce concentration. The room broke into applause as she placed the home- made star atop the highest branch.  
Mr. Weasley waved his wand and the chandelier hanging from the ceiling was extinguished. Everyone sighed, including Harry, as the room beheld the mystical Christmas tree. It bathed the floor with warm orange light, soft and lovely. Harry looked at it silently for a moment, content. A minute later, he felt someone's eyes on the back of his head and Harry turned. Hermione was gazing at him from across the room, her eyes bright with the glow of the fairies. She looked uncertain, almost wondering. Harry looked at her for a moment that seemed to last longer than it normally might have. The cacophony behind him seemed to soften. Then, Hermione blinked and looked away.  
After everyone was done admiring, Harry helped George place superfluous ornaments into the boxes, while Fred relit the lights with his wand. There was a ring from far bellow in the foyer.  
"Oh, that must be the door! Will you go see, Arthur?" said Mrs. Weasley to her husband. He nodded and left. Hermione and Ginny were spreading a white blanket at the base of the tree. Ron and Lupin were hanging long red socks from the fire place on the back wall. Tonks was stringing garlands along the arches of the ceiling with her wand. She magicked up a large velvet bow to hold them all together in the center.  
Harry was just closing one of the cardboard boxes, when Mr. Weasley reentered the room looking sullen. He walked over to Harry. "Could you come downstairs for moment Harry." It wasn't a question and Harry was struck by the serious tone of his voice, wondering what had gone wrong.  
Mr. Weasley and Harry descended the stairs to the foyer where Professor McGonagall and a man Harry had never seen before stood just inside the door.  
"Potter," said McGonagall striding forward. "I'd like you to meet Roddrick Arenso."  
She gestured to the man behind her who was dressed entirely in black. He was very young, Harry noticed. Older than Harry, but young compared to other Order wizards, as Harry assumed he was. He could not have been more than twenty-five. He had a long, sinewy body like Ron's, but unlike Ron, who was clumsy with his limbs, this man seemed to exude hostile grace. His face had a chiseled appearance, his jaw very distinct. He had deep, piercing gray eyes that reminded him vaguely of Sirius's. He also had incredibly pale skin, as though he had never seen the sun before in his life. As McGonagall introduced him, he pulled down the hood of his cloak and let it drop to his shoulders. His hair was black, blacker then Harry's, if that was possible. It was curly and cascaded down past his ears to the base of his neck. He did not smile or acknowledge Harry.  
"This is Harry Potter, Arenso. Potter," she addressed him, "Arenso has come all the way from Essex."  
Harry nodded, waiting for McGonagall to tell him why this Arenso guy was here.  
"I trust you'll show him your fullest gratitude for his generosity in coming to teach you."  
"Teach me what?"  
McGonagall looked between Harry and the visitor as though debating whether to tell him. She finally sighed, saying "His subject, Potter. His subject."  
Harry looked at her, bewildered.  
"Well, I must have a talk with Molly." She looked up the stairs. "Have you made arrangements?"  
The man spoke for the first time. "I have."  
"Good, good. Well, I'll let you get started then." She turned and quickly ascended the steps to the third floor with Mr. Weasley.  
Harry looked back at the man called Arenso. Figuring he had best make a good impression if this man was to be his teacher, Harry stuck out his hand. "Hi, I'm Harry."  
Arenso, however, did not even look at him. Instead, he was gazing around the foyer, his neck pivoting quickly as he looked about. After a minute, he stopped and looked at Harry for the first time.  
Harry watched, eyebrows raised. He did seem rather strange. Perhaps, that was why Professor McGonagall had excused herself so quickly.  
The man pivoted on the ball of his left foot and strode purposely to the adjourning parlor to the left. Harry stood in the foyer a moment, unsure whether to follow or not. Eventually he did, passing the scorched wall where the portrait of Sirius's mum had once hung.  
Arenso was standing in the middle of the room, once again gazing about at his surroundings. Harry liked this room, though there was little use for it. It was filled with late 19th century furnishings. There was also a grand piano of deep mahogany wood in the center of the room. Harry liked that piano very much. It was where Sirius had once played "Happy Birthday" for Harry two summers prior. The room was dark now and Harry wished Arenso would light the various candelabras that adorned the walls. It was rather drafty and light would have been helpful. The only illumination in the room was through the French bay windows that lined the west wall, the street lamps shining murky light through the glass.  
Arenso had his back to him; both hands clasped behind his back military style. He was almost molded into the darkness with his dark hair and cloak.  
"Close the door," was all he said.  
Harry hesitated, and then shut the door. When Harry turned the man was sitting at the piano. Harry blinked. He hadn't even heard his footsteps.  
Harry walked to the large open space before the sitting area, waiting for Arenso to speak. The man finally looked at him. Harry could barely make him out in the gloom, but he could see the flash of his eyes in the light drifting through the windows. Harry, suddenly struck by how weird it was to be standing silently in the dark with a stranger, decided to speak.  
"So," Harry said drawing out the word, "what will you be teaching me, Mr. Arenso?  
Harry could feel the man regarding him. He was silent for a long moment. He placed his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands in front of him, as if he was praying. He did not speak. Harry waited.  
"The Unforgivable Curses."  
Harry cocked his head. "Really?"  
The man's eyes flew upward to Harry, giving him something between a glare and a gaze. Harry got his answer.  
Harry hesitated. "Does Dumbledore think I need to learn them? Did he hire you to teach me? I guess that I'd have to learn them sooner or later..."  
Harry stopped; the man's silence was oppressive. There was something very strange about this man. He was so quiet. Harry couldn't even hear him breathing. He was like a shadow, silent and quiet and black. As mysterious as night and as forbidding as deep space.  
Minutes past in silence. Harry was somewhere between wanting to leave and wanting to stay to hear this man say something else. He had noticed that from the eight words this man had spoken thus far, he was not completely British. McGonagall had said he had come from Essex. That was close to Surrey. His voice was British but it was sharp and clippie. It didn't have the musical quality that most British voices possessed. Harry could tell he was not from England; it was as though he had simply piled a British accent atop his regular voice. He might have been American or Australian.  
These thoughts were wiped from Harry's mind, however, as the man named Roddrick Arenso stood up. He raised one foot and kicked the piano bench backwards. It skidded and stopped against the foot petals. Harry frowned. It was an old piano.  
The man walked and stopped ten feet away from Harry. Still, Harry did not hear his footsteps even though he had seen his feet hit the floor with each step.  
Silence again. And then,  
"Crucio!" was all he said.  
Harry's eyes flew wide, but he had no time to react. For the third time in his life Harry felt the agonizing pain of the Cruciatus Curse. A bubble of fire erupted in Harry's chest that scorched down his arms, his legs, his back, his brain. His bones were slamming against their tendons, slamming against their sockets. Harry's eyes rolled back, barely aware that he had fallen to the floor. Harry screamed and screamed. His head was splitting along his scar. His scar...it ached horribly...blood was crystallizing in his brain...his heart was trembling...his lungs exhaling and exhaling but never taking in air. He wanted...just wanted...to die...  
And then it was gone. Harry gasped for air, and turned to his side. He wheezed and coughed over and over, blood spilling into his awaiting hand. Coughing and coughing. Bones aching, head throbbing.  
Harry felt a foot catch him under the armpit and turn him over. Harry looked up through a kind of hazy mist at the man. He couldn't see anything. He couldn't see but he heard.  
"I hope you didn't think this was going to be easy, Harry. Because it just got hard."  
  
Pretty long chapter I'd say. 11,033 words. I think my longest was 10,000. It was strange because for about a week I couldn't write anything. Writer's block. But then I came back to it and wrote two-thirds of it in about two days. Go figure. Maybe it's just because I love writing about Christmas. And, yes, that is what trimming-the-tree is like at my house, minus the magical popcorn. So anyway, there is a new character. The trio is broken up. It's Christmas and Harry is getting tortured. Lovely! I got the name Arenso from the side of a run-down building on the outskirts of my city. I think it was an auto-repair place, but when I saw the word "arenso," the character just jumped into my head. Weird. I'm sorry to any Brits if I didn't describe London right. Only been there once. Overall, I'm pleased with this chapter. I'm just happy it's so long. Also, my family is taking a vacation that is mandatory for me to attend. So for three weeks I will be traveling up and down the East Coast. I don't know when I will have access to a computer to update but rest assured I will be writing like a crazed weasel. As much as I like being in a 5 foot by 20 foot box (a.k.a. my family's car), I will try to write as much as I can. Maybe new scenery will give me new inspiration. If I get a lot done, I maybe can post two chapters at the same time. I loved everyone's reviews from the last chapter. I truly love reading what you think about the story and squeal with excitement every time I get a new one. Please review! Also if you want to know when I will be posting, updates, and the like, read my Author's Page. Thanks so much to the 503 people who have reviewed me. I never dreamed I would have that many and I can't thank you enough. But I will try! Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, y gracias!! Michelle AD 


	19. Paying the Debt

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters mentioned in this fanfiction. Harry Potter and all characters from the Harry Potter Series are property of J.K. Rowling.

**New Beginnings 24197**

**Chapter Nineteen: Paying the Debt**

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The last light flickered off in the London house. There were a few footsteps, some shuffling, and then all went quiet. A lone dog barked off into the night to another dog that would not answer back. Down the road, a club was blasting its shoddy walls full of pumping music. But to the house, it was nothing more than a distant, calming rumble. Aside from this, existed only silence and though many extraordinary things happened in London everyday, this night, at this hour, when the house was asleep, no one suspected that anything past the barking of the dog would merit recognition of any kind.

But in that London house there was a boy, a quite extraordinary boy, who had experienced quite a few extraordinary things in his life. Tonight would be no different. In Number 12 Grimmuald Place, Harry Potter awoke suddenly, like he had done many nights before. He clutched his scar, for it was practically leaking with pain and he was filled with the strangest sensation, a strong emotion which was completely unrelated to how he was feeling at the moment. Anger, just anger. But what made it significant was its magnitude. It was so emotionally charged that Harry could feel the hair on the nape of his neck rise on edge, and he became instinctively afraid.

But this had happened before…just not for quite some time.

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He sat quietly on his bench looking down, just glad that, for once, he was not down there. His bench was lumpy and he would have much preferred the wooden ones that Bellatrix, Dolohov, and Rockwood occupied as opposed to his stone one. All three of them were quite indistinguishable in their jet black hoods, cloaks, and masks, but Wormtail knew them by figure. Wormtail and the other Death Eaters around him were all sitting in the exact same way: feet flat on the floor, gloved hands hidden in the folds of their cloaks, and eyes on the floor. Normally there would have been scattered conversations and general loitering while the Death Eaters waited for their meeting to begin. But today there was not. The gatherings always started at the same time, but there was always someone in the Chair that had not sat there the previous meeting. Sometimes it was good to be in the Chair on the sunken dais in the center of the room, sometimes it was an honor. But today it was not. Today, Wormtail was relieved beyond measure that he was not occupying the seat where Jugson sat, waiting, apprehension, anticipation and dread tingling over his skin. Today, everyone knew it would not be an honor to sit in that Chair. And they all knew why.

Wormtail looked up, away from the conformal downward gaze that was protocol in such dire times. His eyes flittered across the room to Jugson who sat in the Chair on the deep-set stone platform. The room resembled an amphitheater with stone benches, though the ones closer to the platform were wooden. Each bench was four feet below the one before it and smaller steps ran down from the walls to allow everyone quick access to their designated seats. But from every bench, wooden or stone, there was a clear view of the stone dais where one wooden, straight-backed chair stood, its only luxury a thin red, velvet cushion.

Wormtail moved his eyes over Jugson. He was a rather skinny man, though Wormtail knew he had not always been. He was pale and at times, as he was now, he looked rather peaky. His hands, like everyone else's were placed within his robes, but his, unlike everyone else's, were shaking. His toes beat up and down on the stone floor beneath him in an agitated rhythm. He was dressed in uniform black right down to his shoes, though he stood out as the only one uncloaked and unmasked. His black, collared shirt brought his neck down to a point, making it look skinny and weak, and stretched to an extent that was slightly unnatural—telling of long periods of stress and determination through willful struggles.

Wormtail tried to remember how old the man was. Surely he was not as old as he appeared to be now…however, Death Eaters wore their masks so often, that Wormtail frequently forgot what they looked like. But Wormtail did not remember Jugson looking this old. He had drooping cheekbones, aged dimples, and a mouth that stuck in the corners. Horizontal lines skimmed his forehead like thin cuts from a sharp blade. It gave him a look of permanent worry. In this case, Wormtail reckoned, he had reason to be.

The door slammed and Wormtail returned his gaze to the floor immediately. There were footsteps, some shuffling, and then all went quiet. Thought tempted, Wormtail did not avert his eyes upward. He felt a cloak brush past him and he shivered involuntarily, cursing himself for doing so. He always noticed such things.

There was a swish in the air and all the torches adorning the circular room were extinguished—only a ring of black candles surrounding the platform remained lit. A murky orange glow barely illuminated the floor around Jugson, so that Wormtail and other Death Eaters of his stature were thrown into darkness, barely visible to one another.

Four more slow footsteps.

"My friends," said a cold and high voice. Every Death Eater instantly looked up and brought their eyes to their master, never moving them from his face, knowing that once addressed, one could gaze upon him without the risk of being impertinent.

Wormtail did the same. But no matter how many times he heard his master, Wormtail could not get used to his voice. It always made him feel afraid, on edge, and raw as though any defense he might have had against this man had shuddered and died, useless.

The Dark Lord was standing beside Jugson's chair, robes billowing though there was no draft. He reeked of icy contempt though you could never _visually_ tell due to his maddenly calm guise. His hands, which always reminded Wormtail of white spiders, were long-fingered and bony; one was clasped on the back of Jugson's chair, the other holding an unusually long wand of dark wood. As his Death Eaters met his gaze, he smiled. The lipless gash where his mouth had been placed widened and stretched, white translucent skin folding upon itself. His eyes swept the room, bright and lurid, red and alert, cat-like and piercing.

"You are all here." His eyes flickered across the shadowed faces of his Death Eaters as though he could see past their hooded skulls and into their minds. Briefly, his eyes fell to the top of Jugson's head.

"Let us begin."

Wormtail and everyone around him removed one hand from the dark folds of their robes. Their hands moved simultaneously to their left arms and pulled their robe sleeves to the elbow. Upon Wormtail's paper-white forearm was a familiar insignia, black and stark against his skin: a human skull from which a serpent wound itself, emerging from the skeletal jaw. Wormtail saw a black figure stand at the front of the room, walk towards the Dark Lord, and kneel before him. He guessed it was Bellatrix, tough he couldn't be quite sure. She always prided herself on being Lord Voldemort's supposedly most loyal servant, though he rarely showed favoritism of any kind. It was usually her self-imposed duty to do the following task.

Voldemort bent to reach for Bella's left forearm. She, one of the few women in the room, kept her head down while her master dragged one spidery finger over her own Dark Mark. She didn't even flinch, but others around Wormtail did, itching to clutch their tattoo and alleviate the pain that had shot through them instantly. Wormtail felt pain similar to a new burn and though his eyes watered, he did not shift; his master could sense even the most miniscule or benign of movements.

All was quiet once again as Bella returned to her seat and the pain in Wormtail's arm eventually fell to a dull ache.

Lord Voldemort moved behind Jugson's chair again. He seemed to contemplate what he would say for a moment as his Death Eaters gazed down upon him. Then he spoke.

"My friends," he said again. "We are called here today, as I am certain you know, to discuss a matter concerning a Death Eater—a Death Eater of some standing within our ranks and therefore familiar to you all." He raised a hand airily over the head of the Death Eater beneath him. "Sydney Jugson."

He stopped to allow his Death Eaters adequate time to observe Jugson, who at the sound of his name, began to act very odd indeed. He was shaking worse than before _and_ rather violently, feet still tapping and hands still shaking. But now he was shaking more like an autumn leaf about to fall in a high wind. He seemed to be barely clinging to his composure.

"Yes," said the cold, high voice softly. "Yes, Jugson here has recently enlightened us all with some rather…shall we say…troubling news?" With his wide, stretched mouth, he smiled down at Jugson, who was now shaking worse than before. "But I shall let _him_ tell you that."

The Dark Lord rounded to the other side of the Chair, Wormtail's and the eyes of every other Death Eater in the room following him.

"Tell them, Sydney," he stopped. Jugson had quavered extremely violently at the sound of his first name. Lord Voldemort allowed him time to recover before beginning again. "Sydney…exactly what was it that you did before joining the ranks of the Death Eaters some eighteen years ago?"

Jugson didn't answer for a long moment. He seemed to be trying to gather any remaining confidence or sanity he had left to answer his master, while stumbling over himself trying to promptly respond the Dark Lord. Eventually, he spoke, "I—I, my lord…I worked in—in the Minis—Ministry, my master, my lord, my mas—."

He was interrupted by the Dark Lord who was now slowly twirling the long, brillowy wand between his fingers, a bored expression playing off his horrid features, though he looked as though he was trying to feign polite interest. "What office in the Ministry, Sydney?"

"My lord, my—I worked in t-the Portkey, Master. The Portkey Office, my lord…please my lord, please…please!"

Lord Voldemort's gaze past over his trembling Death Eater and Jugson stopped imploring abruptly. His face had colored to a light shade of red around his neck and ears. Sweat was already beginning to bead on his high hairline and above the lip. He looked wildly around to the one door in the room, a high-arched and wooden gateway with wrought iron hinges. He would not be stupid enough to contemplate an escape, however. He was not chained to the Chair and he didn't need to be. There are other forces that could keep a man in his chair.

The Dark Lord, in the meantime, had turned to address his Death Eaters. "You may be wondering why_ I_ would pick a former Portkey Office employee," he said, swishing his wand towards Jugson, who flinched involuntarily, "for the following task." He heaved an incredibly sarcastic and overly-dramatic sigh. "I'm afraid that I am the source of that error… You see, Sydney here had been of some service to me two year prior. He was a small but intricate part in my plan to bring Harry Potter to my father's grave." Lord Voldemort stopped abruptly as though he had just tasted something foul. A forked tongue emerged from his slashed mouth and licked the place where one's lips were usually found, before continuing. "He, Sydney, was the one who instructed Barty Crouch Jr. in the art of Portkey creation. I, in my current state, at the time, had not the right…mind-set…to perform a task which I had not performed in a great many years. The magic was trivial to me, ergo, I had long overlooked and forgotten it. Without Sydney to instruct Crouch, Lord Voldemort's complex plan would have collapsed and it would have all been for not." He stopped again as though he had just stated something ironic…perhaps he had, Wormtail thought, for the Dark Lord's plans had been thwarted by Harry Potter in the end, so the plan had been created in vain. Wormtail wiped his mind clean as his master resumed his convoluted torture of Sydney Jugson.

"Crouch, being in Azkaban most of his adult life, could not perform a Portkey Charm without the proper training. And you, Sydney, taught him well."

Jugson turned his wide eyes, set upon a bloodless face, upwards and looked as though he could barely begin to believe what his master had just spoken. He looked almost hopeful, like a puppy expecting a treat.

Wormtail sighed lightly, careful to make sure it was inaudible. The Dark Lord always seemed to have the inexplicable power to deprecate the dignity of even the most dignified and stalwart of persons. The Sydney Jugson Wormtail knew would never have looked up at Lord Voldemort like an expectant puppy. Sydney Jugson was a kind person, strong, and a gentleman to his very core. Generally, Wormtail liked him very much—he was one of the very few Death Eaters you felt you could trust with very little effort.

"Yes, Sydney did well, but," continued the Dark Lord. Jugson now appeared to be sinking back into despair at the word "but." His eyes no longer looked so hopeful. "Perhaps, it was my mistake to put so much confidence in you so quickly…"

Jugson began to shake again; his feet lifted off the floor and began tapping the stone dais in silent frenetic tempos.

"Tell them, Jugson." the Dark Lord said slowly and purposely, casting both of his slit-less eyes upwards where his Death Eaters sat, barely breathing. "Tell them. Let them know what your mission was for Lord Voldemort."

Perspiration was now making distinct wet trails down Jugson's neck, disappearing below his collar. He stared up at his master, his lord, like a fish out of water; he stammered and stuttered several times before answering. "My lord…master—I tried! I tried to do your biding! I did try! Please, master! Please, please! I-I did try! Please…"

Voldemort's eyes again swept over Jugson, clear annoyance playing off the corners of his mouth and brow. Jugson gulped air and blinked several times, feet still drumming away like a heartbeat on the stone floor. "I-I, my mission, my lord…my mission was t-to infiltrate A-Auror Headquarters…"

"For what purpose?" hissed Lord Voldemort, pausing to slip his wand back within the folds of his midnight robes. He hitched the material a little higher up on his bony shoulders.

For once, Jugson did not have trouble responding. "To gain information about Dumbledore's Order."

At this, several Death Eaters about the circular, dungeon room shifted uncomfortably. In the very front, Lucius Malfoy, who Wormtail identified by the broad shape of his shoulders, placed one hand upon his left knee appearing intrigued.

"And it was here that our Sydney made a wondrous observation, a discovery, if you will," said Lord Voldemort, waving an arm for emphasis. He did not, however, smile as he looked down upon Jugson's face, the poisonous red glow of the Dark Lord's eyes reflecting in Jugson's pale green ones. "And tell them Sydney. What was your amazing discovery that would have accelerated our new plan into an incredible advantage? What was it? Tell them."

"I discovered an Order member, my lord!" cried Jugson eagerly, his incessant tapping on the floor slowing for a moment. "An Auror within the Ministry who is also in the Order!" he practically shrieked, but very triumphantly so. Sydney Jugson looked alight with pleasure. Perhaps he believed that if he put forward his accomplishments above his failings he would leave the room unscathed and un-cursed.

"Yes, yes, you did well. Your information was helpful indeed…The girl's name is Nymphadora Tonks, is it not?"

"The very same!" Jugson squeaked, looking about the opaque room enthusiastically as though rallying others to his cause.

Lord Voldemort, however, continued. "Quite a lot of planning went into that operation, wouldn't you say, Sydney?" said the Dark Lord, gliding two long fingers across the back of the Chair. "A notorious Azkaban escapee who just happened to be a Death Eater certainly couldn't walk into the Ministry and apply to be an Auror, now could he?" said Lord Voldemort, smiling coolly.

"No, no, my lord," said Sydney, eyes still roving about the room in excitement and cautious delight. Feet still tapping.

"Creating an alias…background history…Polyjuice potions…school transcripts…"

Jugson was nodding his head, though he seemed reluctant.

"Do you see now, my children?" spoke the Dark Lord, turning on his heel and facing the assembled Death Eaters. "Sydney Jugson penetrated Auror Headquarters for the Dark Lord under the pretense that he was an aspiring American Auror-in-training…" He stopped, listening. Wormtail realized he was on the edge of his stone bench. Casting a subtle gaze about the room, he noticed, so was everyone else. The Dark Lord continued. "The identity of a twenty-year-old American wizard who died ten years ago was stolen to be Sydney's alias. We used his school transcripts from Haverford Institute of Sorcery in America so that his school records would be in compliance with Auror requirements, gaining him access into the Ministry…"

Lord Voldemort stopped and turned his snake-like head towards Jugson. Sydney was staring off in his master's direction, pale and eyes wide, lips pursed. He seemed to be waiting quietly as though he was in a Healer's office waiting his turn to be seen. The Dark Lord turned from his Death Eaters and walked around the dais until he stood behind the Chair once again.

"Needless to say, Aurors extensively check into the backgrounds of every aspiring Auror they take on, especially those from Abroad," he said. "Lord Voldemort was ready. Any witness who could proclaim of any lies to our deception was given a heavy Memory Charm before hand; all traces of the real…" Lord Voldemort lowered his lurid and red eyes to Sydney. "What was the boy's name?"

Sydney's lips parted and a dry tongue scraped across his equally dry lips. He had long ago stopped shaking and seemed to have fallen into a waiting state of terror. However, after a moment, his attempts to speak were heard. "Jeff Neeline."

"Ah, yes." The Dark Lord spoke in a whisper, though somehow Wormtail had no trouble hearing. He supposed it was because practically no one was breathing.

Lord Voldemort went on. "Jeff was his name, now that I recall it," he hissed, nodded once, and turned back to his Death Eaters. "For several months everything proceeded fine. Sydney was absorbed into the Ministry and not one doubt was raised that Sydney might be anyone other than who he said to be." He stopped and waited as though expecting some one to get up and leave. When nothing happened he went on. "It was about this time that two rather important events occurred. What was one of them? Can you guess, Sydney?"

Jugson's perpetually pattering feet against the stone floor gained momentum to a faster and more frenzied rhythm. He knew what was coming next. They all could sense it. "M-my discovery, my lord?" said Jugson, sounding incredibly unsure. His body shuddered back into life with a sudden shiver and he began to shake once more.

"Yes, and can you guess the other?"

All was silent for a long moment as Jugson shook his head violently as though trying to shake out an awful memory. The Death Eaters watched, enthralled, as the Dark Lord descended one hand into the folds of his robes and extricated something not visible to the assembled Death Eaters. But when Jugson caught a glimpse of what it was, he began to shake on seizure-like levels.

Lord Voldemort held it upon his upturned palm, which was creaseless and strikingly pale. Upon it rested a gold, metallic sort of device that was no bigger than a coin. It was composed of spindly golden wires that spun and braided around itself. Three wires stuck out at odd angles. One was wound around a clear, translucent crystal that reflected the dim light from the candles. Another wire was clamped to a deep blue sapphire gemstone. The last one, the shortest chain of the three golden wires, held a tiny, almost miniscule, diamond-shaped, glass top. In the very center there was a deep red, glass bead, smooth and circular. It was held in place by golden wires braided together like strands of hair. The red bead looked very dull, as though it usually was lit, but somehow had been extinguished.

"This," hissed Lord Voldemort very slowly, "is a talisman—a very _rare_ talisman not usually available to the wizarding public. It is chiefly used by intelligence wizards, the Ministry, and _Aurors_." He sounded sarcastic as though the fact Aurors used said talisman should be breathtakingly obvious.

Jugson's shaking still did not cease and his drumming feet were beating ever faster like the heart of a frightened rabbit.

"It's called a Surveillance Talisman," he informed his Death Eaters, still holding the device upon his palm, allowing all to have a good look. "This," he said, moving the talisman to his bony thumb and forefinger and pointing to the tiny blue sapphire with his free hand, "is the audio feed. It relays everything it hears straight to the Auror who placed the Surveillance Talisman upon the one they wish to shadow." The Dark Lord's repulsive face was beginning to look slowly sourer, his slit-like nostrils flaring as he spoke.

Jugson was shuddering and it took Wormtail a moment to realize he was crying. Feeble cries of "master, master" were all that was audible as he buried his gaunt face in shaking fingers.

"This," said the Dark Lord more loudly and more aggressively, gesturing to the clear translucent crystal, "is the_ visual_ feed. It shows the Auror who planted the talisman everything that person _sees_. And this!" he said over Jugson, who was now sobbing and sniveling very loudly indeed, "This is a _Sneakoscope_." He gestured to the last crystal. "One of the smallest ever created. It alerts of any deception or falsehoods the wizard is practicing on the Auror who planted the talisman."

Lord Voldemort sneered down at his pitiful Death Eater who was shaking uncontrollably, refusing to look up, weeping very loudly, but pausing with every tremendously shaky breath he took.

"It seemed as if Miss Nymphadora Tonks did not fancy you as much as she let on," hissed Lord Voldemort, bending his head to Jugson's ear. "She didn't trust you, Jugson…which is why she put _this_ on you."

Sydney still would not look up at his master and was continuing to blubber wretchedly. It was very hard for Wormtail to watch and by the uncomfortable shifting about him Wormtail realized he was not the only one.

"So naturally, she soon discovered you were not all as you appeared to be, Jugson," spat the Dark Lord. "She knows, Jugson. She knows that you work with Death Eaters and for Lord Voldemort," Voldemort stated with clarity.

At this, Sydney finally pulled his face away from his trembling hands. He looked absolutely horrible. His eyes were huge and shining, swimming in tears, red veins reaching his pupils. His grisly old cheeks were matted with tears all the way down to his unnaturally stretched neck. His face was startlingly red; his forceful sobbing had exhausted him to new levels of grief, of fear, and of shame.

"Master! I beg you! I did not know! I did not know! My lord, please! Please! PLEA—"

Jugson stopped abruptly. Lord Voldemort had launched himself across the room and towards Jugson, seized him by the neck, and slammed him against the back of the chair. Sydney didn't even try to remove his master's hand from his own throat. All animal instinct of survival had long ago left him with any shreds of dignity he had been able the cling to.

"You fool! You don't even know the worst of it! I don't give a damn about what she heard! All I care about…"

Quite abruptly the Dark Lord released Sydney. It took Jugson a moment to realize what had happened, and then he inhaled mightily, turning swollen eyes up at his master.

"My Death Eaters," said Lord Voldemort, flipping his snake-like head upwards and away from Jugson, "the Auror, of which I speak, Nymphadora Tonks, may have heard anything. Our plans…our location…your true identities…"

Wormtail and many Death Eaters around the room moved restlessly. The escaped Death Eaters from Azkaban, however, looked quite unperturbed.

"This, however," stated Lord Voldemort loudly, "is of no importance!" His gaze flittered back, momentarily, to Jugson who was still gazing at his master imploringly. "Luckily for you," said the Dark Lord to Sydney, "you have never been far enough up within my inner circle to understand, in detail, our most potent and well-hidden weapon…"

Wormtail observed Bellatrix and Lucius Malfoy sit up a little straighter, obviously pleased that the Dark Lord had referred to his "inner circle" which undoubtedly included them.

"You were let in on the existence of this…weapon, were you not Jugson? Not so long ago?" sneered Lord Voldemort, eyes narrowed and arms folded.

"The prophecy." Jugson's gaze fell.

Wormtail frowned. He was not aware of any prophecy besides the one the Dark Lord had tried to steal from the Department of Mystery less than a year ago. But he couldn't be referring to _that_ Prophecy, for everyone in this room knew about it, including Jugson—so he couldn't have been "let in" on it, nor could it be "well hidden."

"Yes, _that_ prophecy. She may know of it now."

Jugson was trembling as though electric currents were rebounding inside him. His feet were tapping increasingly faster and faster.

The Dark Lord took three steps and he was behind the Chair once more, leering over a shaking Death Eater, whiter than a ghost, terror dripping out of every pore.

Wormtail just noticed that Voldemort's unusually long wand was in his hand again.

The Dark Lord spoke slowly and softly and matter-of-factly.

"And that is why you will die tonight."

"NO!" shrieked Sydney Jugson, making everyone in the room jump. Wormtail's chest was seizing up. He didn't want to see. "MASTER! I TRIED SO HARD TO DO YOUR WILL! PLEASE, DON'T KILL ME, MY LORD! MASTER PLEASE, PLEASE! PLEASE, HAVE MERCY!"

"Mercy is for God. I am your master."

Sydney Jugson was sobbing again and he made no attempt to hush his anguish. His feet still tapped. His lower eyelids were red with terror and fear and despair. No one would help him.

"Sydney made another important discovery for Lord Voldemort!" shouted the Dark Lord over Sydney Jugson's incessant crying. "Something of vital importance, in fact! The location of the Order of the Phoenix! Tell them where, Jugson!"

"MASTER! I DID WELL! I FOUND THE HEADQUARTERS! LET ME LIVE, MASTER! PLEASE, DEAR GOD, LET ME LIVE!"

Jugson had fallen from his chair to his knees. He crawled to the hem of Lord Voldemort's robes and lifting them off the floor, kissed them. "I BEG YOU MASTER! SPARE ME! HAVE MERCY FOR YOUR SERVANT! PLEASE, LET ME LIVE! PLEASE, PLEASE!"

Voldemort took no more. Bending his tall frame ever so slightly, he seized Sydney Jugson by his silvering hair and tilted his head back so he could only see the ceiling disappearing into darkness.

The Dark Lord pressed his brillowy wand to his Death Eater's neck, the point digging into the wrinkled pale flesh.

"Where is the Order of the Phoenix Headquarters?" hissed Voldemort into the silent room. Only Sydney Jugson's tortured breathing was heard. He had no choice.

Jugson's lips cracked open and with one of the last breaths of his life, he breathed, "Twelve…Grimmuald Place…Lon-London."

Lord Voldemort nodded, manic happiness dancing like flames within his eyes.

He didn't waste anymore time.

The Dark Lord moved his wand to middle of Jugson's forehead, pressing it painfully into his skin. He lifted a trembling Sydney Jugson to his feet, who was mumbling something that sounded like prayer.

Lord Voldemort stepped away and then spoke.

_"Avada Kedavra!"_

There was a split second in between when Jugson was still mumbling…then…a flash of green light and when Wormtail opened his eyes again, Sydney Jugson was on the ground in a crumpled mass of aged bones and skin, his last prayer floating off his lips. A single tear was making a deliberate track down from his right eye, but Wormtail somehow knew that it wasn't a tear of sadness. Soon, the ecstasy of death became evident on his face, the burdens gone, the heart set free.

All was incredibly silent as Lord Voldemort placed one foot gently under Jugson's limp form and rolled him off the dais. He fell with a clunk that finalized his death. It was then Wormtail realized there were no tapping feet; it had stopped.

The Death Eaters stared numbly at the corpse of the Death Eater that had lived just moments before. They weren't in shock, however, it had happened before—but for Wormtail, he felt more than a little twinge of anger and of sadness for someone he believed a friend. But for someone who had been a Death Eater as long as Wormtail had, you long ago had learned that instinctive human emotions had no place within Lord Voldemort's inner circle.

"Death Eaters," spoke the Dark Lord, replacing his wand into the obscurity of his cloak, "my dear Death Eaters. Do you see how Jugson's stupidity has caused his own demise? I ask that you never make me dispose of you in such a manner as you have just witnessed... But enough of that!" said Lord Voldemort lifting his arms, causing his robes to billow like darkened banners.

"We have more important matters to discuss!"

He swept across the room, drawing the eyes of all the remaining Death Eaters who had still been gazing upon what was Sydney Jugson. "The fact remains, my Death Eaters, that the Auror, Nymphadora Tonks, may have heard far too much for her meddlesome ears. An Un-timeable Spell was placed upon the talisman before it was put into use, so it is impossible to tell how long the talisman has been operating. This leaves us, unfortunately, with very few alternatives.

"The weapon of which I spoke, most of you know nothing about," said Lord Voldemort, pacing slowly along the dais as dozens upon dozens of eyes followed him. "And it shall remain that way. However," spat the Dark Lord, "this information in the hands of an Order member is deadly. It is crippling…it would be the downfall of us all." He paused for effect, letting the impact of the words trickle down into everyone's minds.

"There is only _one_ solution, and that is to kill the Auror. Luckily, for all of you, this bumbling fool," he gestured to Jugson, "had only learnt of the weapon as of yesterday when invited to…a gathering of select Death Eaters. That is where the talisman was discovered on Jugson by Bella, rather unfortunately after the gathering…"

"But that is done with. What we must focus on now," said Lord Voldemort, sliding his hand over the back of the Chair, "is how to arrange the elimination of Miss Nymphadora Tonks…"

At this point Lucius Malfoy, who was barely aglow in the dim light that the shriveling candle wicks provided, stood at the front of the room. His hood was tipped back slightly so that Wormtail could see Malfoy's sharp gray eyes resting upon hammocks of flesh below his eyelids. When he spoke it was in a carefully measured, but authoritative voice directed to his master, but submissive enough to warrant no inclination of disrespect. "My lord," he said quickly, waiting for Lord Voldemort to acknowledge him to speak. When the Dark Lord nodded, Malfoy continued. "You should not trouble yourself, my lord, with the trivial murder of some deluded Auror. I hope you would allow me, and perhaps some others, to arrange her assassination…all by your will, of course…"

"I appreciate the offer, Lucius," said the Dark Lord, lowering himself into the Chair just previously occupied by the dead man. He waved an arm over the side of the chair and an armrest appeared beneath the Dark Lord's billowing sleeve. "I, however, have a different proposal…"

Lucius nodded and retook his seat between Bellatrix and Rockwood.

"You are, however, correct Lucius that this will be a trivial murder. There is no need to draw attention to ourselves…the death of an Auror will be widely publicized as it is…we must be careful…meticulous…cautious…and leave no evidence of our involvement…"

He extricated his wand again from the folds of his black robes and began twirling it lazily between his fingers. He was obviously thinking very hard and the silence in the room reaching an almost deafening state. After several moments, he lifted his grotesque skull and spoke.

"Bella!" he barked.

Wormtail saw Bellatrix Lestrange almost jump out of her seat in haste.

"Master," she spoke breathlessly, straightening her petite back and facing the Dark Lord.

"I do believe you know the location of this 12 Grimmuald Place, do you not?"

"Of course, my lord," said Bella and Wormtail could hear the laughter in her voice. "I used to visit every Christmas, after all…"

"Then you shall have no trouble finding it."

Bella nodded, but shifted uncomfortably. "My lord…"

"Yes?"

"My lord, Grimmuald Place is…very heavily protected. I do believe it is Un-plottable and has many protective barriers to keep out intruders, especially those who wish ill-fortune upon the house. It's invisible to Muggles and even wizards—unless they are told where it is…No doubt my cousin, before he died… saw to it that the house received extra measures of protection and secrecy if it was to be Order Headquarters."

"So only those who know where it is could find it?"

"Yes, master," replied Bellatrix.

"But you know where it is…"

"I do."

Lucius Malfoy's broad frame, again, rose from his stone bench. Standing next to Bellatrix, he spoke, "Master, I too have visited Grimmuald Place on infrequent occasions, long before it became Order Headquarters…we—that is, Bella and myself—do not know what charms or spells have been placed over the property…It could be impossible to enter it by force…Perhaps, it would be better to kill the Auror out in the open—perhaps when she leaves the Ministry from her work…?"

Lord Voldemort gazed coolly at his two Death Eaters. "You need not worry about any barriers. Barriers are not unbreakable. And it cannot be done out in the open, Lucius, it would draw too much investigation. If the Auror is killed within Grimmuald Place, Dumbledore cannot alert the Ministry of her death for the Ministry knows nothing of the Order. It would be a silent murder, for if any Order member tells of her murder it would betray the existence of the Order of the Phoenix…and Dumbledore has always prided himself on the subtlety of his organization."

"But…but," drawled Lucius, stopping abruptly and waiting for Lord Voldemort to allow him to speak. When the Dark Lord nodded, he went on. "My lord, if you could somehow breakdown the barriers surrounding Grimmuald Place and enter the house undetected, how would you kill the Auror…without drawing the attention of the others in the house? It may result in the killing of others, not just the Auror…"

"And what is wrong with that?" snapped Lord Voldemort. The slit-like pupils within his lurid, crimson eyes contracted slightly as he glared at Lucius. "If you could gain access into the Order of the Phoenix Headquarters wouldn't you try to kill as many as possible?"

Lucius looked rather taken aback, but seemed to gain his composure to speak one more time. "Yes, my lord…of course—but, my lord, the children are there also…Harry Potter is there…Do you wish to kill him there also?"

Voldemort was silent for a long time. His gaze fell to the ground and eyelids emerged from somewhere under the Dark Lord's eyes and slid across his pupils. Lucius Malfoy was shifting from foot to foot, obviously nervous, but his reputation fought to keep it at bay.

Finally, the Dark Lord raised his head set upon the white flesh of his sinewy neck. The translucent skin of his eyelids slithered away and his eyes became visible again—focused and angry somehow.

"Yes," hissed Lord Voldemort softly. "I do not see a problem with killing Harry Potter too—it can only help us if he is killed…but…but,"

Wormtail looked down curiously at his master (he had never heard him stammer before) for the strangest expression had taken residence upon his snake-like features. It was an expression that had never before resided there in Wormtail's memory and it unnerved him. It unnerved him so much that he couldn't even begin to name the expression.

The look disappeared just as quickly as it had come and before Wormtail could begin to discern what it was, the Dark Lord was speaking again with the same authority and tyrannical certainty that always poisoned his voice.

"I shall not be the one to do this," he declared. "What we need is something much more broad—something that could kill many people if we decided it should be so. If it kills the Potter boy that can only work to our advantage. It would have to be taken there by someone who means the house no harm…"

"My lord," Lucius spoke again. "Are you suggesting a magical…bomb of sorts? That should not be too difficult to conjure…"

"A bomb…yes…something that would destroy the entire house and everyone in it," smiled Lord Voldemort, his appalling face scrunched up in mirth and his eyes seemed to glow a bit brighter. "Of course, this bomb would have to be sensitive enough not to go off until the Auror enters the house."

Bellatrix spoke again. Her voice was harsh. "There is a spell, my lord. It is a spell you taught me long ago that I believe would do what you are asking—the _Vagistus-Interitum Curse_. It can be placed on any object and be set off at a certain time, place, or when a certain person is present. It would be untraceable once it exploded and would destroy everything and everyone in the entire area…It could be placed on a pot of flowers, if it is your will master…though, the Auror would have to enter the room it is placed in for it to go off instantly. If she were in a different room, it could take several moments to detonate. But, all it needs is to be taken in by someone who means the house no harm. That would stop the barriers from alerting the scum."

"Thank you Bella. I had been thinking along the same lines…" he paused for a moment, apparently thinking until he reached some sort of conclusion, "And the matter of how to get it inside Grimmuald Place will be left up to me…"

The Dark Lord stood up from the Chair and his height commanded dominance once again. "My Death Eaters, tomorrow night we will begin our first attack upon the Order of the Phoenix, commence the annihilation of those stand in our way. We will kill the Auror Nymphadora Tonks and keep secret our most precious of weapons. Go now and return to your duties. This meeting is over…"

There was a great clamoring to get to the one door in the circular chamber, but Wormtail stayed where he was. Over the murmuring of his fellow Death Eaters, Wormtail heard the Dark Lord call, "Austwin! Austwin, come down before you leave!"

Austwin, who sat two rows down and three seats from where Wormtail sat, jumped out of his seat at being addressed and nervously made his way down to where Lord Voldemort was assembled with his inner circle of followers, which included Bellatrix, Lucius, Rockwood and several others.

Wormtail paid them no mind, his brain was still whirling with all he had heard. He was confused and scared and worried, but something was emerging within the deep folds of his mind that he had long ago tried to forget. Something beautiful and profound like a golden flag waving across a shadowed battlefield. Something Wormtail had long forgotten was rising inside him that had been pushed, stamped, and beaten out of him after years of living in darkness. But it could still rise up. And then so very suddenly, a light emerged in Wormtail's heart and for the first time in sixteen years it became obvious. He knew what he must do.

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Harry slowly tossed one of his legs over the side of his narrow, but at the moment, extremely cozy and warm bed. Blinking, he reached out a hand to his beside table. At the same time, he hovered his toes just slightly above the hardwood floor of his bedchamber. His feet came in contact with a fuzzy material and Harry quickly placed his toes within the folds of his slippers, lest his feet make contact with the floor which was, unsurprisingly, radiating an extreme frigidness that could only belong to the morning of Christmas Eve.

The bed creaked rather loudly as Harry removed his weight from the warm folds of the sheets and stood in the icy air of Grimmuald Place. Harry thought grimly that when he was much older he would find the time to create a sufficient heating system throughout the mansion. He turned to his bed and grabbing the sheet and heavy woolen blanket, smoothed it upwards to his pillow. He walked gently across the room, his slippered feet silent and cautious not to wake Ron. Ron, who was ever the deep sleeper, would need more than a hundred stomping feet to wake him out of slumber—but in the wake of recent events, Harry thought it was best not to take any chances in waking Ron.

He moved to the door and gently creaked it open. Harry stumbled quietly down the hall, past Hermione's and Ginny's room and away from the twin's room. To the left were two mahogany doors each with brass handles. Harry went into the first one, which was the bathroom he shared with Ron and the twins. The other door led to the girl's bathroom, and thus regarded by the men of the house as an "off-limits high-danger zone".

Harry stepped into his darkened bathroom, choosing not to switch on the light as his eyes felt unable to adjust just yet. It was very early morning, six according to the watch he never took off. Harry peered out the window between the toilet and the tub. It provided a beautiful view of London to the east, twinkling in the pale wash of light in the lower sky that disappeared under a horizon of flats, shopping centers, and office buildings. Far off, Harry could make out a wide separation of the buildings, where graceful bridges crossed the expanse of the Thames. The sky was painted with the lightest of pinks, the clouds above were gray and hiding the moon that would soon fade and travel to the other ends of the world. Every so often the clouds would flash a brighter and fuller pink, their outlines becoming distinct silhouettes against the grays and pinks of the sky as lightning raced across the clouds.

After finishing with the toilet, Harry turned to the countertop where two sinks were settled. Washing his hands with icy water that refused to become hot, Harry blinked blearily downwards. His eyes caught sight of a brush with a wooden handle and course, brown bristles. Harry rolled his eyes and frowned, picking up the brush and realizing whose it was. No one but Ginny had red hair that was this length. It wasn't enough for Ginny and Hermione to have their own bathroom for just the _two_ of them, Harry thought, they had have to invade his too. If he had left so much as a toothbrush in _their_ bathroom, it would have merited the consequences of an unforgivable crime. Unforgivable. Quite suddenly, Harry groaned and remembering, turned to the mirror as though it would tell him it wasn't true. But sadly, like so many things in Harry's life it was true—he had his first lesson in the Unforgivable curses that afternoon.

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Harry stared at the glass pane covered in frost, crusted over like trees bursting forth little crystal flowers that wove and spun among branches of ice until the frost resembled something not to be really seen again until spring. The trees outside were bitter and stripped, standing obstinately against the cold, refusing to be conquered. Surrounding the frostbitten feet of the few trees that splattered the property lay a blanket of beige snow, melting and freezing as it hid the dormant ground beneath. The sky was a blank canvas, allowing nature to paint a new picture for a new season and a new birth to the cycle that all life trudged through in an endless parade.

Harry felt warmth descend upon his fingers. Drawing away, Harry looked up to see Hermione turning away from him after placing a bowl of oatmeal on his resting palms. Harry watched her silently for a long moment, gently blowing on the steaming oats beneath him as Hermione placed more bowls of oatmeal on the table for Ron, the twins, and Charlie. Mr. Weasley had left for work early at about seven. It was now nine. Ginny and Hermione helped Mrs. Weasley cook for the boys and a silent calm fell upon the four in the room as George arrived, then Ron, followed by Fred and Charlie. In time, Hermione and Ginny settled themselves at the table, though Mrs. Weasley was still busy at the stove. Mumbled morning conversations gurgled out of the mouths of those at the table.

"Heard Dad wants us ta' shovel that 'driveway thing' outside today," said Fred to Charlie who was dumping cinnamon upon his porridge in liberal amounts.

"Wha' hell for?" mumbled Charlie indignantly. He seemed the sleepiest at the table, evident by the purple patches shadowing the corner of his eyes all the way to the tip where the eyebrows and nose came together.

"Said would look funny if all the Muggles shovel theirs and we don't…" answered George.

Charlie's reddish-blond eyebrows came together in a confused look. "But-but the Muggles can't see the bloody house!"

"We know," said Fred.

"We told him," said Fred and George.

"And he said it would be good for us or some other bull like that—work out the ol' arms I guess," said George, shoveling little pathways in his oatmeal with his spoon.

"But we all know the real reason," said Fred rolling his eyes heavenward to the berry and mistletoe covered ceiling.

"Dad probably found some old Muggle shovel out on a road somewhere and brought it home for all of us try a bit of Muggle-bonding to know the pain and suffering the little darlings go through," said George, clapping his hands in the same excited, passionate way Mr. Weasley did when he saw a pencil sharpener.

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny all laughed. Charlie scowled, however, probably because he would most likely be the one doing the shoveling for the invisible house.

Several minutes passed with Fred and George discussing if they should open one of their presents tonight or all of them on Christmas Day.

Harry's gaze passed over at Ron, who looked down furtively, not meeting Harry's eyes. Harry's eyes fell to his porridge. A moment later, Hermione took a seat across from Harry. He saw her tuck her legs under herself, discarding her woolen shoes on the floor. She began to eat her own oatmeal silently.

It was strange how peaceful it could become between the three of them. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were indeed strange friends, even when they fought. Harry took heart in the fact that perhaps there was some hope for a revived friendship if all three of them could sit within feet of each other, like they were in the Great Hall, and not have another row. The constant silence, however, grated on Harry. He longed to talk to them both, especially Hermione. He had so much to explain to her, to tell her, to smooth over with her—but most of all he just wanted to hear her voice again speaking to him. But for now he would wait and eat his breakfast.

It was when Harry was walking to the sink with his empty bowl that it happened. Hermione, Ron, and George were all still at the table. Mrs. Weasley had gone upstairs to post a letter. Charlie had disappeared.

Harry felt something crease into the skin of his forehead like wet streaks of acid, and then the pain began again. A knife seemed to crash into his skull and drag the blade downwards along his scar, lighting it on fire and matching the intensity of the previous attack he had suffered this morning that he still had not told anyone about. Harry's hands loosened and the bowl fell to floor. Harry blindly reached out a hand that collided with one of the burners on the stove which had thankfully been turned off. He fell to his knees, and shards of ceramic stone from the bowl dug fruitlessly into his jeans. And then it stopped. His knees hurt slightly but the pain in his scar was receding like a crashing wave being pulled back onto the beach. Then a new feeling bubbled over Harry's confusion that was certainly not his own. It was not anger or fury or hatred or worry—things _He_ had felt not long ago. Voldemort was happy again. His mood had changed and he was happy.

Time sped up and Harry blinked his eyes open. George was beside him, a hand on his shoulder. Hermione was on the floor, but she did not touch him. She looked too afraid to, real fear blazing in her eyes. Ron was right behind him, kneeling on top of the broken shards of the bowl.

"What happened?" said Ron worriedly, looking awkward as though he did not know what to do with himself.

"Are you all right, Harry?" asked George breathlessly, who had placed a hand on Harry's forehead, very much like Mrs. Weasley would have done.

"I'm fine. I'm fine," Harry said, pushing George's hand away.

"Your scar," said Ron.

"Is fine," said Harry, "now."

"What happened, then?" demanded George, dropping to his knees, level with the trio.

Harry paused, wondering if he should tell them and wondering if he could explain it if he did. He was very confused himself.

"It's just a feeling. When it happens, I get these feelings. They aren't mine…" said Harry, wanting to get off the floor, but George's hand kept him in place.

"V-You Know Who's feelings, you mean," said Ron.

"Yes."

"Was he mad? Happy? What did he feel?" George commanded.

"Happy."

There was silence for a moment, until Harry spoke again.

"He was angry this morning. It happened again this morning," Harry admitted, looking down because he could feel Hermione's thoughts for some reason.

"It happened this morning?" said Ron. "You didn't tell me."

Harry could not bring his eyes to meet Ron's either.

"But-but…" stammered Ron, confusion lacing his words, "this hasn't happened in forever. Not for a long time."

"I know."

"Your Occlumency."

Harry looked up so suddenly, he felt another sweep of nausea that diminished almost instantly.

It was Hermione who had spoken these last words and it was the first time she had directly addressed Harry since their kiss.

"What about it?" said Harry feeling defensive and unexplainably afraid of her at the same time.

Hermione didn't speak, but continued to look at him and through him as though she could see more than just him.

Ron spoke instead. "You have been practicing, haven't you? If you're doing it right then you shouldn't have these attack things," he said reasonably.

"Of course I've been practicing," Harry snapped more malignly then he intended. "It's just since I got here that this all started. It hasn't happened in a long time."

The tension wafted back into the room and Harry remembered that he and Ron had not been speaking to each other just moments before. Ron seemed to notice too because he pursed his lips and got up off the floor. He moved to the table and sat down. George looked warily from Ron to Harry, before sighing and getting up himself.

"You're alright now, though?" inquired George looking down at Harry and Hermione.

"Yes."

"All the same," continued George, brushing off his pants, "I'm going to tell Dumbledore what's happened when he comes for the Order meeting tonight."

Harry hesitated but then shrugged. George left, wiping his hands with a dish towel and trotting up the stairs. There was a soft "clink" to his left and Harry found Hermione gently scooping the jagged bowl shards into her hands. They both knelt there, Harry and Hermione on the cold floor with Hermione piecing together shards. Harry sighed. He reached out and took her hands in his.

"No," said Harry. Hermione looked up at him. "_Reparo!" _Harry whispered to the pieces, leaning towards the shards in her hands.

The remainder of the shards around both him and Hermione flew into Hermione's hands. A second later the repaired bowl appeared there. She looked up at Harry, amazed.

There was the sound of feet padding along the floor and Harry looked up to see Ron turning away from him and moving to the sink with his bowl. Harry dropped Hermione's hands and stood up. Hermione stood up seconds later carrying the complete and repaired bowl, her eyebrows knotted together, thinking.

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It was a glorious room, a high-ceilinged room, bordered along the tops of the walls in soft green. Soaring pomegranate draperies with finely woven gold tassels hung from every gargantuan window, all drawn closed. Ornately carved, high-backed chairs scattered the small parlor area and cushy looking sofas with fat ottomans were set against one wall. The light in the room was mellow and cool, shaded and soft. A crystal chandelier tinkled above. Gold molding framed it. A single picture of the English countryside hung from the wall above the sofa.

It was a room that should have been found in an old Southern mansion and definitely not in Harry's house. This room was housed on the second floor of Grimmuald Place in the wing that jutted to the side and rose above the third story. Harry had never been in the room before and found it amazing that it was even there. It was easy to forget that, above all, Grimmuald Place was a mansion, and a huge one at that. One tended to forget for the simple reason that everything seemed so cramped, as though the house had been quashed together by giant hands, crushing walls together to create narrow hallways when there should have been plenty of room to move about.

So it was natural that Harry, walking into the room for the first time, was astonished firstly that it existed at all and secondly that it gave the impression of being spacious and relaxed and completely unlike the rest of the house.

Outside, through a small parting of one of the draperied windows, Harry could see the awkward hours between day and evening. A haze was rising off London, the cool winter heat of the afternoon beginning to retreat upwards so that night could move in. But it wasn't gone yet and Harry was happy to see that it had stopped snowing. Fluffy patches of undisturbed snow lay upon every rooftop he could see and Harry decided it would be a splendid Christmas Eve, regarding the weather at least.

Despite the cheery and warm interior, Harry's stomach had twisted into an icy ball of anxiety. It was his first lesson or torture session, Harry wasn't sure which, with the man he had only met the day before. And already, Harry had formed a strong and highly unfavorable opinion of the man.

Just thinking about it made Harry's stomach clench with anger and fear and quite a lot of embarrassment. He could have blocked the Cruciatus. He had known he could. There just hadn't been anytime to think, so Pain Deflection had been useless. But he could have done it, Harry knew that.

Roddrick Arenso. Harry turned the name over in his mind. He hated it. He hated the sound of it. He hated the way he had to move his tongue to say it. And as Harry stood there waiting for the man to arrive, he couldn't help but feel a primal intrigue knowing that he would see the man again, to show him that he hadn't won over him just yet. A small vendetta, but Harry felt it was all he had.

Only one other person in the world had ever cursed him like that. And that one other person Harry hated with his whole soul. He hadn't told anyone about the stranger's attack on him, partly because there had been no one to tell. Also he felt that if he told anyone, it would break this hatred he had for the man called Arenso or at least assuage it. And Harry didn't want to assuage it. He found that being preoccupied with this matter allowed him to forget several unpleasant things like how his head kept hurting despite the headache spell or the continued bout of silence with his two best friends—not counting the incident that morning.

Harry looked around the beautiful room again, enjoying the pleasant smell of the pine logs in the fire. Ironically enough, Harry couldn't for the life of him understand why Arenso had chosen this room as his living quarters. The black attire he had worn the previous night seemed to be his color of choice. This room was the farthest thing from black. It wasn't mysterious or gloomy or scary. It was cozy and warm and comfortable. Everything Roddrick Arenso had not been.

One of Harry's eyebrows quirked in annoyance. Wherever Arenso was, he was running late. The fire in the grate was flickering. Soon Harry's eyelids were flickering as well. It wasn't even five yet, but Harry hadn't gotten much sleep the previous night for unforgettable reasons. A deep cream-coloured couch against one of the walls seemed to call to him. Harry sat down cautiously, not wanting to muss up the pretty room. Gradually, he let his fatigue overtake him. He laid his elbows on his knees and wove cold hands together so that if his teacher walked in it would appear as though he was merely thinking. He let his head fall between his shoulders and tried not to think of anything. He was tired and the couch was entirely too comfortable.

_"He shouldn't have this room,"_ Harry thought.

That was the last thing he remembered.

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_"What level is it?"_

It had been so long since he had been here, in this one place he dreaded above all. The one place he had always wanted to forget. The one place he had spent his entire life running from. Yet here he was.

_"What level? Was it two or three? Or maybe four?"_

Wormtail sat wedged between one of the cold, black metal walls of the elevator shaft and the golden border of the elevator door frame. For some reason, Wormtail knew it was gold even though he was blind to all color. After years of being a rat, he had learned to feel what color certain things should be just by looking at them.

His little black nose twitched involuntarily as he waited with impatience. It was nearly time for the Ministry to close on this Christmas Eve. It had been open for some sort of society banquet in honor of the season, so hardly any actual Ministry workers were present in the building. A state of lonely patience had settled over the cold marble floors of the Ministry while it waited for its occupants to return from their homes and vacations.

Wormtail thanked God that his unfortunate undertaking was scheduled during the Christmas season, when the Ministry was devoid of its keen employees and full of twittering and worthless socialites who thought of nothing save sipping eggnog and champagne in the Atrium.

Wormtail had entered the Ministry through the Atrium after a long and complicated trip from his location with the Death Eaters. He had made the excuse of needing to visit his mother in Northumberland to leave Headquarters. The Death Eaters mocked him about this every year, and for a logical reason. It wasn't as though Wormtail could actually "visit" his mother when he was supposed to be dead. Still, Wormtail visited every single Christmas. It had always been his mother's favorite holiday and his as well. He would crawl up the side of her small cottage-like house and peer through the window at her as she prepared for the season. Sometimes his brother's children would visit and bring her presents along with their own children. Being lucky enough to be a great-grandmother, she would play with the children for hours, reminding Wormtail strongly of his childhood. He could no longer be with his mother. His mother was as good as a saint, as sweet as sugar, and ignorant above all else. In her old age of eighty-four, she was loosing her vision and as her bones grew weaker Wormtail wished he could be with her. His mother thought her boy was a hero, someone who had died trying to do right for his best friends Lily and James Potter. It would never have entered her mind, during those dark days of Voldemort's power, that her son was betraying the very way of life she held so dear; that her son was a spy and a traitor and had sold out his closest friends to a murderer.

No, besides the fact that his mother believed him dead, Wormtail could never again look his mother in the face knowing what he had done. She was the apex of his shame. Of all the things he regretted in his life, hurting her was the one he regretted most of all.

Wormtail had stopped by her home in Northumberland before setting off for the Ministry in London. It was early morning then and he sat on the icy windowsill watching his mother diligently write out Christmas cards to everyone in his distant and widely dispersed family and Wormtail knew she would receive hardly any cards herself in return. She would spend Christmas alone, in a house full of presents for relatives that would come pick them up weeks later. There were no Christmas lights on the outside of her house, only an old holly wreath, as it was the only thing she could manage. The interior however, was cheerful and warm and clean. She wore a bright red dress with a snowy lace collar and an apron that even in Wormtail's childhood he remembered was always there. Eggnog and cranberry sauce would be simmering in pots in the kitchen and the grate would be lit with hot coals and pine logs. There would be a huge tree full of levitating golden balls and red and green lights in front of the mahogany fireplace and on the mantelpiece rested an object that had not been moved for over fifteen years; a small gold box, embellished with the Ministry of Magic insignia. Inside was what Wormtail assumed was the remains of his left finger.

A booming sound jerked the rat from his thoughts. The elevator was at last coming up and Wormtail edged along his ledge to the front of the door frame, lest he be quashed as the elevator moved up.

The doors slid open, and Wormtail expecting it to be empty, was surprised to see an extremely old witch standing there holding a box of papers. A long black cane was held in her gnarled hand and upon her face rested a pair of shaded glasses. It took Wormtail a moment to realize she was blind.

Feeling assured by this, Wormtail edged into the elevator and waited as the doors closed and they began their ascent. The woman stood eerily still and Wormtail watched her warily; he felt that she could sense her.

A moment later a cool female voice filled the small elevator compartment as the grill moved past a floor.

"Level Seven, Department of Magical Games and Sports, incorporating the British and Irish Quidditch League Headquarters…"

_"No, definitely not this one,"_ thought Wormtail. As he caught a glimpse of the seventh floor, his tiny rodent heart began to pound harder as the full reality of his task began to hit him.

Three move levels passed by, none of them the one that Wormtail needed.

"Level Three, Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, including the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad, Obliviator Headquarters, and Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee."

At this announcement the blind woman, shook herself out of her stagnation. She walked two steps, about to place her foot on the cool marble tiles that lay beyond. But before she did, she turned her head and looked piercingly at Wormtail huddled in the corner. For one terrifying moment, Wormtail was sure he had been mistaken the woman's blindness.

However, she only lifted one corner of her wrinkled skin and a surprisingly beautiful and comfortable smile broke on her aged face that reminded him terribly of his mother.

"So the light came back on, did it?" she said and then turning she swung her cane in a wide arch as she made off down the hallway. The tapping of her cane echoed as the golden grill slid closed again and elevator ascended once more.

Perplexed, but too anxious to think more on the woman's words, Wormtail heard the voice call out the correct floor at last.

"Level Two, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, including the Improper Use of Magic Office, Auror Headquarters, and Wizengamot Administration Services."

The grills slid open slowly and Wormtail hurried out of the elevator into the dimness of a corridor lined with nondescript oak doors of offices, conference rooms, and lounges.

Here he was, on the very floor of the Ministry he had so long thwarted. His head was beating as frantically as a hummingbird's, as though he expected twenty Aurors to Apparate in his midst and haul him off to Azkaban. But that was asinine, the Ministry was practically deserted. The only people in the nine-story Ministry of Magic building were the wizards in the Atrium and the one blind witch.

But still, Wormtail could not stop the shaking of his heart and with every small step his paws took, horrible memories seem to flock to him. Horrible memories of the day he killed twelve Muggles in an open street, the day of his funeral and his sweet mother crying openly, the night he cut off his own hand, the look Sirius and Remus had given him the night they discovered him in the Shrieking Shack, the way Harry's face had distorted with disgust when Wormtail had thanked him for sparing his life…

Slowly, Wormtail's thoughts settled on Harry and the first memory that struck him, naturally, was of the bright-eyed infant he remembered from so many years ago. James had called him by Floo Powder in the middle of the night on July 31. Harry was being born and James wanted Peter by his side. Peter had held Harry before even his mother, for she was still weak from labor. He had remembered how the baby's eyes had danced blearily, taking in his new world. He remembered that for a month after his birth, he and Sirius and Remus visited almost everyday, showering Lily and the baby with presents. By this time, Peter was already working for Voldemort, but he hadn't dreamt that the baby he had held so many times would be his master's ultimate target, that he would betray this green-eyed child and his parents…that he would orphan this child.

The last time Wormtail had seen James' and Lily's child was over a year ago, in a grave yard. He had grown. He looked like James and was assuming the height and build of a man, but his eyes were always the same. He remembered with staggering clarity, dragging Lily's fourteen-year-old child to a tomb stone, binding him to it, and slicing his arm for blood to resurrect this boy's mortal enemy. That had been a horrible night. He would never forget it. It was the night that Wormtail marked the completion of his moral depravity. Where he began to believe and trust in the fact that he was nothing.

Even now, Wormtail didn't understand why he was living, why he hadn't gotten over the cowardice that stopped him from killing himself. He had done nothing in his life worth any merit. He was believed dead anyway. What was wrong with making it official? What was there to live for, what was it that he was supposed to do in this life? It was all pointless and if death equaled an eternity in hell, was that so different from what he was living now?

Wormtail stopped before two giant oak double doors at the end of the corridor, or perhaps they only felt giant from his height. They seemed impermeable, insurmountable just like the task he was undertaking. The lights were on behind the door, and he moved to the place where the light filtered under the door most openly. Wormtail pressed his small rat's head to floor and wedged under the hinge. His body came next and soon he was standing in the place he had spent his entire life terrified of and running from. Auror Headquarters.

To anyone else, Auror Headquarters was a completely un-intimidating sort of place. It smelled strongly of cigar smoke and soft jazz music was emitting from one of the fifty or so dark wooden-paneled cubicles. Some of the cubicles had strings of fairy lights dangling off the corners, and there was a definite festive cheer, though it was almost completely deserted save perhaps five Aurors who were entrenched in work on Christmas Eve.

Wormtail scampered surreptitiously along the cubicle walls, searching for the one that he needed. They were in alphabetical order, thankfully, so this wouldn't take long.

_Karl Lovensteen…Samuel Maldovo….Ricky Porrington III…_

Wormtail read the names as they descended down the alphabet. He tried to still his beating heart as he passed the cubicle of the witch who was playing the jazz music, Grace Mell. She, however, was bent over an enormous book of wizarding records of deaths, marriages, and births.

He passed her cubicle and turned into the next aisle of compartments.

_Rosalyn Simonides…Paulina Swathbourg…_

Wormtail stopped, abruptly. He saw it, the correct cubicle, wedged between Andrew Theobald and Lia Woo.

_Nymphadora Tonks._

Hers was completely unlike the cubicles that surrounded her compartment, subtle and utilitarian. Hers was bedecked with fairy lights along every inch of border, enlightening the desk with an ostentatious glow. And, as Wormtail moved slowly to her desk, he saw a mini-evergreen tree. It was real, Wormtail noticed, only shrunken and ornamented just as any normal Christmas tree would have been. On a bulletin board on the left side of the mahogany cubicle, a wide variety of newspaper clippings and pictures and memos were tacked on by magic. He saw pictures of what he supposed was Nymphadora Tonks receiving a diploma from a stern looking old wizard. She looked very young and she wore new robes that were adorned with the Ministry emblem. Her hair was bright red in that picture, but in the one right above it was the same girl only with long flowing blonde hair. She was holding the hand of a pot-bellied man with very little hair on top, and he had the same nose and eyes as Tonks. The two were chatting and laughing as they walked through some park in the background.

Pulling his eyes away he moved to her desk and closed his eyes; he concentrated very hard on being silent while he transformed.

**_BANG!_**

Wormtail would have squeaked his rat-like vocal cords had he not been in mid-transformation. He had misjudged his size and slammed his head against the underside of the desk. The midget Christmas tree tumbled to the floor with a crash, several of the ornaments smashing into pieces. Fumbling with his wand, Wormtail fixed and righted the tree, praying that no one had heard.

"Tonks?" said a voice only about ten feet from the cubicle.

There were footsteps and Wormtail transformed back into a rat and slid his tiny body under the desk once more; his wand rolled away.

A witch's head appeared over the side of Tonk's cubicle. It was the witch who was playing the jazz music. She looked around inquisitively, tucking a strand of dyed red hair behind her ear. After a breathless moment, the witch retracted her head and walked back to her cubicle. When Wormtail was sure she was once again immersed in her work, he reemerged from under the desk.

Wormtail transformed again without a sound and hurriedly squatted beside Nymphadora's desk. We retrieved his wand from behind a potted fig plant that was sprouting apples and oranges every few seconds. He turned back to the desk and it didn't take long for him to find what he was looking for.

Next to an enormous pile of documents on the desk, was a thin golden-lacquered instrument. Surrounding it were thin ribbons of semi-translucent paper which appeared to have a waxy texture. Wormtail approached it surreptitiously, pushing aside some of the ribbons to pick up a roll of the translucent paper. The paper that had already been used was written on in various scribbles and scrawls of various people. Some of the ribbons contained memos and messages from co-workers, some more personal in content, but one of the ribbons made Wormtail pause, forgetting what he was here for.

It was an extremely short message: Meeting tonight, bring report.

That was all that had been written in a tight, loopy hand. At the end of the message was a symbol, a little emblem that signified who the message was from. It was a single scarlet feather—a phoenix feather. Wormtail had no trouble guessing who it was from. It confirmed that there was, in fact, an Order meeting tonight. A meeting Wormtail was going to stop from turning into a disaster.

Wormtail drew in a quiet breath and began to write. The instrument was called a Scriptline, used by wizards as a means of notification and communication. An entire network of wizards across Britain used the Scriptline and each wizard had a specific symbol that represented their names placed at the end of their messages, allowing for secrecy.

The message with the phoenix feather at the end was the last message to arrive via the Scriptline.

Wormtail hurriedly summed up everything he needed the Auror to know on a strip of Scriptline paper and wrote her symbol on the back of the ribbon, a lizard, indicating where the message should be sent. He fed it into a small hole at the top of the instrument. Wormtail hunched over the apparatus and whispered almost inaudibly, _"Envoya!"_ and the ribbon disappeared into the hole of the mechanism. He waited patiently. The words he just wrote reappeared through the tiny dispenser at the front of the instrument. Though he had wrote the message in black quill ink, his message now appeared bright red and luminescent. He had not indicated a symbol to verify who the message was from, so his text appeared in red to show it was from an anonymous source.

Satisfied, Wormtail returned his quill and wand into the folds of his robes. Backing away, he transformed into his rodent form.

The rat scurried away from the Auror's cubicle and disappeared into the shadows of the Ministry hallways once again. Being so absorbed in escaping unnoticed, Peter Pettigrew did not realize the enormity of what he had done.

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When Harry awoke, the first thing he felt was a twisting ache at the base of his neck. The second thing he felt were two eyes staring at him. The soft fibers of the sofa seat were pressed against the skin of his face. Harry blinked his eyes open and the waxy film of sleep gradually dissolved from his vision.

Gaining his bearings, Harry eyes locked on a figure, swathed in black cloth, sitting in a high-backed armchair across the room, gazing placidly back at him.

Electricity passed through Harry's spine slowly, and when it reached his skull it was as though something had whacked him painfully in the head. A rush of memories and anxieties flooded back to him, which had oddly not been present during his sleep, as they usually were.

Now he remembered with startling clarity how he had gently dozed off on his teacher's sofa. Harry did not meet his eyes, and averted them to the window. The bright, crispness of the afternoon had dulled into the beginnings of twilight and Harry almost sighed with relief that he had not slumbered that long.

There was a rustle and Harry turned. Arenso was getting up and moving to a door Harry had not seen on his first perusal of the room. The man went inside and shut the door behind him, leaving Harry alone. The sounds of clinking metal and grinding passed under the door and Harry's heart started slamming against his chest, not sure what was to come, what to be prepared for…

The door opened again and Arenso appeared holding a silver tea set, steam gently rising from a kettle. A crinkle formed between Harry's arched brows.

Arenso set the tea down on the coffee table between the two of them and poured Harry a glass in a smudged tea cup. He offered it up.

"Tea."

Harry didn't know if he was offering or commanding he take it. Harry wasn't sure what he preferred either. He did not trust this man or his tea, but he was rather dehydrated. He took the cup and drank. A warm lemony feeling slid down his throat and he felt better.

Arenso poured himself some tea as well and sat back against the cushion of his high-backed chair. Harry sipped his tea slowly, avoiding the moment when he would have to meet his teacher's eyes.

Minutes passed in silence, and Harry, having finished his tea, replaced it on the platter. Arenso returned the tea to the kitchen Harry assumed was beyond the door Arenso had first entered.

He returned and moved to the couch, where Harry sat. Harry jumped out of his way to the other side.

Arenso looked back at him, almost curiously, and Harry almost felt silly for being so paranoid. This was, however, the man who had just placed him under the Cruciatus Curse less than twenty-four hours ago.

Arenso sat, introverted and contained, and when he spoke it was the same cold, voice that sent goose bumps up Harry's stiff neck, that made his throat clench.

"I want you to stop."

Harry stared at the man beside him. He plunged into his mind, thinking of all the things he was doing that he should stop doing. There was power and conviction in his teacher's voice and it somehow propelled Harry to do what Arenso asked, despite the fact that Harry despised him from his dark head to booted toes.

"Stop what?" said Harry.

The man's dark tresses lifted and Harry's eyes were intercepted by cool gray ones that once again reminded Harry, with a painful clench in the heart, of Sirius.

"Whatever it is you're doing that's making you sick. You aren't well."

Harry stared.

"You are feeble and weak and depressed and it's more than just the spat you're having with your friends."

Harry's brows went down in harsh lines. "I don't know what you're talking about," he spat.

"I think you do. You should never have reacted the way you did to the Cruciatus. You were bleeding…or have you forgotten?"

Harry stared and thought back. He _had_ coughed up blood after Arenso had cursed him. He had almost forgotten. The bleeding had ceased minutes later…

"You never should have bled. The Cruciatus is a purely psychological curse. The pain is imaginary, contrived from the person's interpretation of torture. Consequently, people develop a universal idea of pain and anguish and manifest it in the curse. You see…Harry…the Cruciatus doesn't incite pain, rather it lets it come into being. It's an axe, but it doesn't do the hacking."

Harry looked suspiciously at the pale man seated next to him. A question surfaced in Harry's brain, but before Harry assumed the courage to ask it, it was answered for him.

"You are wondering how I know all this. How your Transfiguration professor found an expert in the Unforgivable Curses to teach you. You are wondering how I can know so much when I am so young?"

Harry nodded. "How _do_ you know so much about… the Cruciatus—?"

He saw a smile rise upon his teacher's lips, silky and knowledgeable. "I…I helped invent it."

Harry blinked. He didn't understand.

Harry remained quiet, looking down. Arenso's eyes were upon him in a steady gaze, as though he were appraising him or seeing beyond him. Harry couldn't explain it. He felt as though this man was pulling apart the layers of his mind and determining what was the matter with him. After a while, Arenso stood and walked to the door that led out into the hall. Harry looked up when he heard the knob turn.

"Come, Harry," he said from the door and Harry saw that he was smiling, his cheekbones were more pronounced. It was a cool, liquidy smile and gentle all at once, and perhaps because it was below eyes that remarkably resembled Sirius', Harry found a bead of trust in them. It by no means erased the wariness and hostility he felt towards this man, his teacher…but his conscience was assuaged by the resemblance to his godfather.

Harry stood and strode to the door. Harry looked up to his teacher's face that towered above him like a moon in the dark sky.

"Don't use that spell," he said. "It is causing you problems you aren't realizing. Do not use it again or things will be much worse. Promise me?"

Harry stared, not fully taking in the fact that Arenso somehow had guessed that he was using a headache spell dangerous to his health. It could only be that spell. He didn't think about that, but was rather propelled to do as his teacher said.

Harry nodded.

"Good. We will do more tomorrow, or perhaps the next day since tomorrow is Christmas. We should have done more today…" he smiled. "But since you find the furniture so comfortable we shall have to postpone your training until next time."

Harry nodded again, unsure whether he should smile at the reference made to his slumber on the sofa.

On the opposite side of the door, Harry was left wondering how this meeting had gone so differently from the previous one. Something was off about this man, who looked so young but knew so much. Harry didn't understand but was somehow…relieved that he was forbidden to use his headache spell. He knew he could not have stopped on his own.

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If Harry learned anything from his friendship with Hermione Granger it was that research works. It had gotten him out, or further in, quite a few scraps in his life from his first year to his sixth. Nicholas Flamel in his first year, the Polyjuice potion in his second, the dozens of hexes and curses learned for the Triwizard Tournament and then the D.A. Over the wide vista of years in Harry's life, research had never failed to spur a discovery, provide a solution, or darken a situation.

It wasn't in Harry to voluntarily go to a library and allow a deluge of books and reference material to overtake him. That was Hermione's thing. She lived and breathed the knowledge in books. She knew everything about everything, without ever actually experiencing it. It came in handy, but it was never hands-on. Harry and Ron hardly ever appreciated or acknowledged the power of books, and never understood what Hermione could find so appealing about them.

But the part of Harry's mind that often spoke in Hermione's voice, the nerdish, bookish, logical part that was almost non-existent, did pop out occasionally. It was after Harry's lesson with Arenso that for the first time in Harry's life, Harry willingly went to a library, not because he was in danger, not because he needed help, or had homework to do, but because he was curious.

Grimmuald Place had a library, yet Harry rarely used it on his holidays away from Hogwarts. He found it most uninviting. The most time he had spent in it was two summers ago during the massive cleaning/renovation of Grimmuald Place, when Sirius was still alive. Harry remembered it as a musty, forbidding room with dark, imposing furniture. Hardly a place to study or read a book for pleasure.

It was located on the ground floor in the back of the house, next to a dilapidated conservatory. Harry pushed open the door and was greeted by essentially the same room he had spent so much time cleaning in, nearly two years ago. It was dark, all the gas lamps were extinguished and the thick curtains drawn shut. Its musty air was tinted with the unmistakable tang of old books, a stark contrast to the brisk winter air outside. The floors were carpeted by thick red rugs with elaborate golden designs that Harry couldn't appreciate in the dim light from the open door. Harry moved to one of the gas lamps, vainly searching for a box of matches. He sighed.

Harry stuck his head into the hallway. No one was there. Harry thought for a moment, and then he raised his hand to the lamp. He removed the glass cover.

_"Inflamare!"_

The lamp sparked into life at the touch of Harry's finger; Harry replaced the glass cover. He did the same with the other lamps until the chamber radiated a warm, brassy glow. With the room looking considerably more comfortable, Harry turned his attention to the shelves…and there were many.

Grimmuald Place's library was like no library Harry had ever seen, not even Hogwarts'. There was very little to no wall space in the room for the simple reason that every inch of the walls, and some of the floor was covered with books. The shelves went right up to the cavernous ceiling, and even then shelves were built across and along the underside of the ceiling, the books held up by magic. The books were leather-bound and well preserved, their titles striking out at Harry: spell books, potion books, cooking books, fiction novels, a few Muggle classics, Muggle classics written by wizards, books on Quidditch, atlases, encyclopedias of Wizard knowledge, poetry, plays, history… a rather ghastly amount of knowledge in Harry's opinion. However, most of the books were unfriendly in their nature, Harry reminded himself, as the house had once been occupied by a dark family, one that had had family members in league with Voldemort. The cheeriness that filled the house now had not been there when Sirius was a child. The library was really like one big Restricted Section at Hogwarts. And it was Harry's to roam.

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Late in the evening, Tonks peeked her bright, purple head over Grace Mell's cubicle, a cheeky smile on her exuberant face.

"What are you still doing here Gracie? It's Christmas Eve. I expected better from you!" Her voice was taunting.

Grace looked up, startled. Then her face broke in a warm smile.

"I wouldn't through stones, Dora. You're here too!" said the Auror with dyed red hair. She slammed shut an enormous tome from which she had been reading. She stood, her eyes following Tonks.

"Oh, I'm just picking something up. I forgot to take it to the hospital with me," said Tonks matter-o-factly, walking around to the front of Grace's cubicle. She saw a mug of tea on the desk and, picking it up without hesitation, took a sip.

Tonks stuck out her tongue. "It's cold! You've been here a long time! Don't you have somewhere to be?"

Grace plopped down in her squishy armchair, pushing away the long ribbons from the Scriptline that covered her desk.

"No, not really…I'm not the only one here, though, so you can save your mouth. Nicholas is here, so was Lydia…"

Tonks looked around. There was only one light coming from a distant cubicle eight rows away. Tonks lips quirked upward in a smile.

"Er…honey, no one is here. You are right about Nicholas. He's here, but then again, he practically lives here. Look, go home. It's Christmas and you should spend it drunk in some bar rather than in your cubicle."

Grace smiled ruefully. She looked down at the pile of work on her desk still needing to be done. "Ah, the hell with it. Evil can take a holiday!"

Tonks laughed. "That's the spirit. I'll walk down to the Atrium with you. Just hold on a minute, I have to stop at my desk."

Grace said all right and she began piling her things into the large, leather accordion file that was propped against the wall of the mahogany partition.

Tonks walked briskly to her compartment in the next row of cubicles from Grace's. She smiled when she saw hers bedecked with ornaments and fairly lights. Gathering a few papers and placing them in her briefcase, she hummed to herself, thinking. There was an Order meeting tonight, but then after that it would be time for celebrating. She planned to spend the night at Grimmuald Place. There was a side bedroom next to Hermione's and Ginny's that she used whenever she spent the night. She didn't want to return to her flat above an Irish pub. She wanted peace and quiet with good friends…and—

Tonks shook her head. She had bought presents for everyone, even though she didn't know what to get half of them. She had some last minute wrapping to do, but that could wait until after the meeting.

Tonks bent down and placed the fingertips of her right hand on the bottom drawer of the desk. The lock flicked open and Tonks extracted an ordinary, unobtrusive roll of parchment. She placed it carefully into her briefcase as well. She was giving her office one last passing over, when she saw it.

There was a new message in the Scriptline. It was glowing in the light. Luminescent. Red.

_Anonymous._

Tonks crossed her cubicle. She dropped her briefcase with a loud clunk and picked up the ribbon with fumbling hands, almost tearing it in her haste.

She never got Anonymous messages. Only if…only if something bad was going on…

Tonks eyes read the words, written in clearly defined block letters. The red text didn't register at first. It couldn't be, it wouldn't be, it just couldn't.

_"Dear God,"_ whispered Tonks.

Then, "OH MY GOD!"

Tonks yelled these words, throwing down the ribbon and running out of her compartment. She forgot about her briefcase, her report, she didn't even hear Grace calling confusedly after her.

She had to get to Dumbledore! To Harry!

She jabbed the elevator button with her fist as she waited for the lowering elevator. Tears were already streaming down her face, but she hardly noticed. She pounded on the golden grate, urging the slow contraption to assist her in her haste. When the elevator finally opened in front of her, Tonks wedged apart the grates and pushed her way inside. The message was chiseled in her mind, ringing like a bell, warning of destruction and death. The clanging of the elevator was like the clanging of her thoughts, crashing against the walls of her mind. One thing stayed horribly clear and still, though. She didn't need to bring the ribbon with her. She remembered every word perfectly and she repeated it like a war cry that was more like a prayer.

_He knows about Jeff Neeline. He knows about the meeting tonight. Sabotage. You must get them all out. _

Tonks' heart was pounding against her clenched muscles, she could barely breathe. She knew who "He" was, and she had never been more scared in her life. The elevator finally rattled into the Atrium and she separated the grate with her hands before they opened themselves. She threw a disgusted looked at the pompously giggling socialites chit-chatting around the Atrium. The moment her foot touched the marble floor of the cavernous hall, she Disapparted.

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Harry had been in the library for twenty minutes, searching the long shelves for a book that could possibly answer his question. One whole side of the library contained history books, exclusively. They were, however, unlike any of the history books found in Hogwarts' library. All these history books seemed to deal with Dark magic in particular, and that was just what Harry needed.

Harry pulled down a thick tome. The binding read, _An Account of Dark Magic Through the Centuries. _

It looked promising. He peeled apart the glossy pages.

He stopped when he got to a page halfway through the book. Its heading glowed with ornate, blood red letters. _The Cruciatus Curse._

"_Here it is," _Harry said to himself. He read further down. The curse had been invented in the late 1400s during the Spanish Inquisition, but it hadn't become an Unforgivable Curse until it had reached Britain in the 1600s.

Harry's brow crinkled, reading further. The tome mentioned nothing about who invented the curse, how it was developed, or anything else Harry found important. He shook his head. _"It's impossible for Arenso to say he invented the curse. He couldn't have been alive in the 1400s. That's ridiculous. He must have been lying, or I didn't understand him,"_ Harry thought.

Harry sat quietly, immersed in the book. He flipped several pages ahead, hoping for better luck. He didn't notice that someone else had joined him in the dimly lit library. Harry read for several more minutes until he finally looked up, frustrated, closing the book with a loud snap.

Harry's bright eyes were pulled to the corner of the room and his chest clenched in surprise, but he didn't allow it to show on his face.

Hermione was standing in the corner looking back at him.

They spent a long moment like that. Harry didn't really want to pull his eyes away. It had been so long since Hermione had looked him in the eye. And he missed that. He missed it more than he told himself.

It was Hermione who finally pulled away. It was then Harry noticed that her arms were weighed down with books, books that would fill some of the empty spaces in the many shelves. She placed them on a side stool near the polished wooden ladder that allowed the climber access to the higher books.

Harry watched her, taking her in. She was wearing a burgundy sweater, pushed up at her elbows, and flowing green skirt. She looked very much in the spirit of Christmas. Even in the dim light, Harry could tell her eyes were sparkling and her cheeks were pink. When she had set down her books, she looked back at him and smiled. It was one of her genuine smiles, the type that made her face shine through its plainness, and Harry was dazzled. It had also been a long time since he last saw her smile, and it warmed him like a cup of hot chocolate.

But something in her eyes stopped the smile from being happy. She was smiling, yes, but it wasn't the smile of someone content. Either way, Harry was glad when she walked over to him and seated herself on a large golden settee by his feet.

"I didn't know you would be in here," she said pleasantly.

Harry took a moment to find his voice. "No, it's not like me to be in here, is it?"

Hermione's smile grew and Harry's heart grew lighter because of it.

"I've missed you, Harry."

Harry met her gaze, seeing if she was serious. She was. Hermione never said anything she didn't mean.

Harry smiled, he felt happy for the first time in a long time. She looked happy too, and Harry was glad, he was tired of seeing Hermione quiet. She never spoke when Harry was around, and Harry missed the sound of her voice very much. But, now that he was looking at her, really seeing her for the first time in a week, the memories came flooding back. He remembered how beautiful she had looked in her Yule Ball gown, how she had run up the stairs after him to tell him how she felt, and then shouting at him for not telling her how he felt- begging him to tell her what was wrong. He remembered the immaculate violence of their kiss, the spinning sensation afterwards, the pain in her eyes…

And here she was talking to him like nothing had happened at all.

"I've missed you," Harry returned, smiling.

Hermione looked away then, towards the shelves. "I've been thinking for a while now," she announced. Harry looked at her expectantly. "We can't avoid what happened after the Yule Ball forever."

Harry looked down. The memories continued to come.

"But I know you don't want to talk about it now," Hermione informed him. "I just wanted to tell you I'm sorry about Ron. I'm sorry that we got into this overblown row. I'm just sorry in general. You are my best friend Harry," she paused. "My very best. I don't know what it would be like not talking to you everyday. I miss that the most. And I know you have been having a hard time with your scar and everything else. I was being selfish about what happened. I didn't think, and I hope you can forgive me for that."

"Oh, Hermione." He didn't know what to say. He had never heard of anything more stupid in his life. None of this was her fault. None. He appreciated it, but he didn't blame her for anything that had happened.

"No, I know what you're thinking. This _is_ my fault. I was demanding things from you." She stopped and laughed. "God, I said I wasn't going to talk about what happened, but now it seems like I _have_ to talk about it."

Harry nodded when Hermione turned to face him. She seemed to be talking with great difficulty, and there was a definite blush on her cheeks. But she was very calm about the whole thing. Harry could tell it was just a coating. But he stayed quiet so she could say what she wanted.

"I'm tired of saying 'what happened.' I'm just going to say 'the kiss', ok? That's what we did, so we might as well say it." She looked at him, considering. "Before we kissed, you said you couldn't tell me how you felt because I wouldn't understand." She paused for a long moment. "I know there's something you aren't telling me. You're very obvious about it, Harry." Hermione smiled. "Anyway, I wanted you to tell me things you didn't want to tell me, or couldn't tell me, or shouldn't tell me. And all I wanted to hear was that you liked me. I was being selfish, and I'm sorry."

Harry nodded, feeling he should speak.

"I don't know what you're not telling me. But," Hermione paused, her hand maddeningly twisting a strand of her hair. Hermione became quiet as though she was going against every instinct her mind possessed. She was letting go of something. She was learning to trust without proof, without reason, without hope of understanding. It was very un-Hermione. Harry realized something was changing in her. And she was changing because of him; she was doing this for _him_.

"But," Hermione continued, resigned and accepting. "But, if you can't tell me for a good reason, a _good_ reason mind you, then I will trust you. That's what friends have to do, right? And I do trust you, Harry. Completely. It's one of those believing without seeing things…like Santa Claus!"

Hermione laughed, and Harry's heart turned over for her. She was clearly uncomfortable, clearly going spare with the wanting to know what was wrong with him. He knew how much she didn't want to do this, but she was… because she had to for her friend.

Harry reached out for her hand, but she pulled hers away and looked him dead in the eye.

"Just promise me one thing Harry James Potter," she said vehemently.

"Of course," said Harry.

"Whatever it is you are keeping to yourself, whatever it is that you aren't telling the world, let alone your best friends…the _moment_ it is ok for you to tell me, you had better tell me, or I will skin you alive without a second thought. I want to be there for you! And it would be so much easier if I knew what the hell is wrong with you!" and before she could stop herself, "I mean, I love you, Harry—God help me I do—as a friend unquestionably, and as something else, I have no idea. But I love you, so you had better swallow your pride one day and tell me and Ron what is bothering you. Got that?"

Harry laughed, actually rocked with laughter that reverberated around the entire glowing room.

"I fail to see what's so funny," Hermione sniffed.

"You are," Harry answered. "You've made me very happy Hermione. You really have," he smiled.

"Well, I'm glad." Hermione smiled. She looked considerably happier, her smile reaching down to her heart this time. "But really Harry, whatever it is that's bothering you, you can tell us. You know we would understand. Ron and I care about you more than anything."

Harry looked away at this mention of Ron.

Hermione sighed, a solemn look replacing her smile.

"Have you spoken to Ron?" she asked quietly.

"No."

"Well, I still don't understand what happened between you two… just that he knows what happened, I mean, about the kiss, we had."

Harry was silent for a long while. Hermione came and sat next to him on his settee. She looped her arm through his and waited.

"He likes you, you know?" Harry said after a while.

"I know. I've known for a long time."

"And you don't like him back?"

Hermione was silent for a very long moment. For some reason, Harry was dreading what her answer might be. His arm went stiff. He needn't have worried, though.

"I love Ron…but it's different. I can't explain it. He's funny, and stupid, and occasionally charming…I can't see either or us being the same without him. He's more human than you… sorry… and he has more life than me…"

She looked down at her hands.

"I'm afraid I've hurt him. He doesn't deserve that. I'm afraid that in my selfishness to get what I wanted, which was you, I forgot all about him…"

She trailed off. Her eyes looked worried and tired.

But then she smiled, and Harry was amazed at her determination to be happy. "Which is why, he is getting a much better Christmas present from me, than you are getting," she stated matter-o-factly.

"Is that so?" Harry grinned.

"Hey, a little bribery can go along way. You'll see what I mean, I hope."

They both looked at each other and laughed uproariously.

After a moment, Harry asked, "So you don't love Ron that way?" Harry wanted to be sure. It was petty, but he had to be absolutely positive.

"No, I don't. I should have told him a long time ago. But, I guess I was never sure how I felt about him… Like if I truly loved him, or if I loved him because he loved me. It's all very confusing… It took me a long time to figure it out…" She sighed, "Have you ever felt that way?"

Harry shrugged off the question. "I'm not even sure what love is."

Hermione stared at him for a long moment, and a shadow passed over her eyes that Harry couldn't read. Her eyes became somehow harder. It lifted quickly though.

She took hold of his hand and tried to explain.

"True love…isn't physical or even emotional, I suppose," she began slowly. "It goes deeper than that, to that part of you where there are no lies…or rationalities…and there _is_ only truth. I like to think that no one understands that part of themselves. Humans are so corrupted with lies and deception; they can never understand the part of them that's truly honest. Anyway, true love must be when you can't imagine or even think about living without someone, because it's too painful. And everyday of your life you wake up wanting more of them, always wanting to be with them even when you have fights or even when one of them is dead… It's when you would die for that person just so they could live. It's the love you know won't die, it might take a break, but it won't die and every time you're with that person you love, you shine with the power of it…"

Harry stared at her in awe.

Hermione just laughed, "Or something like that," she said. "Don't listen to my girly, hopelessly romantic theories on love."

Harry shook his head. "No, it was good."

"You must have loved someone in your life," Hermione interjected. "Sirius?"

Harry stopped her quickly. "That's not the same thing…though I would have died for him," Harry said soberly.

Hermione laughed loudly at that. Harry was surprised.

Hermione raised a hand to his cheek, and looked at him with an amused and pitying expression. "Harry, I think you would die for anyone you felt was worth the trouble, even some people you felt weren't worth it."

Harry smiled, placing his hand over hers. "Is that my saving-people-thing again?"

Hermione glowed red, tilted her head up and nodded.

Harry felt his jade eyes being pulled to her face, then her lips—they were very close. And appealing.

Hermione stared at him, split in two directions. Wanting him to kiss her, and afraid that it would ruin something…this shield of platonic love she had just built.

Harry lifted her chin with his fingertips and looked at her eyes. They were the same, bright and beautiful, and shining with something Harry didn't understand. She had looked like this when they had first kissed. He ran his fingers along her jaw and then lowered his face to hers. They both felt the sweet pressure of the other's lips on their own.

But this kiss was miles different was from the first. It was soft and undemanding, quiet and gentle. There was none of the passion that had fueled their first kiss, but Harry didn't mind. It felt right to kiss her like this, and he did.

He still kissed her with possession and devotion; he still wanted, more than anything, to be with this girl and take care of her and love her. Hermione returned his kiss with a gentleness she hoped Harry would understand. She loved him, and she wanted him to know that. You can say, "I love you" a million times, but a kiss proves it.

It was Harry that pulled away. He looked into her face and felt his lips shaking. She smiled at him, showing him that she was fine, that she had enjoyed it.

Harry smiled as well and he reached up to hold one of her russet tresses in his palm. But before he could lean towards her again, there was a voice from the hallway.

"Harry!" It was Ginny. "Hermione!"

Hermione pulled away and went to the door.

"We're in here, Ginny!" Hermione called.

There were footsteps and Ginny head appeared at the door.

"Would you two come on?!" She didn't seem surprised that Harry and Hermione were in the same room. "The Order meeting's going to start soon," she whispered. "We need to get the Extendable Ears ready so we can be sure we hear everything. This is supposed to be a really important one."

Harry and Hermione nodded and followed her out the library. Hermione glanced at Harry and smiled. He returned it.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The floorboards radiated cold, but Harry lowered his cheek to the grain. A long, fleshy filament was wedged in his ear, and he gently lowered it down the air vent. Harry listened and then finally felt the ear hit the other vent, the one above the dining room.

He smiled at Hermione and mouthed, "I got it."

He scooted over and Hermione did the same. She lowered her Extendable Ear and waited for it to hit the lower air vent.

"Ginny!" whispered Hermione. "Ginny, I got mine."

Ginny, who had been standing guard at the staircase, moved into the darkness of the corridor. She joined Harry and Hermione, pulling out her own Extendable Ear from her sweater.

Harry squeezed himself closer to the wall to make room for her.

Soon all three of them were lying on their stomachs by the air vent. It made for a very odd-looking situation.

Hermione sniffed. "How long is it 'til the meeting?" she asked Ginny.

"Maybe another ten minutes. I know McGonagall, Snape, Lupin, Diggle and that Vance lady are all here. I think even Aberforth Dumbledore is coming. That's most of them, not counting Mum and Dad and Charlie. I think we just need Dumbledore and Mad-Eye Moody and Tonks."

"What about Hagrid?" Harry whispered.

"I didn't hear anything about him coming. I dunno. Maybe."

"Where's Ron?" asked Hermione.

All Harry could see of Ginny in the near darkness was the dull glint of her crimson hair. "I haven't seen him since this morning. I have no idea where he went, but I told him there was a meeting so he should be back for it."

"What are you three doing?"

All three of their heads flew up; the Extendable Ears slipped out of their ears and into the vent.

"Damn!" whispered Harry and he looked up. Fred and George were looking down at them, amused expressions on their identical faces.

"Well what do we have here?" said George haughtily. "Somebody trying eavesdrop on top-secret, private Order business?"

"This simply will not do, will it George?" said Fred, smiling down at the guilty party.

Ginny huffed. "No, it certainly won't!" Ginny whispered vehemently, standing up. "You know precisely what we're doing here, so you might as well leave so we can get on with it. If you two were a year younger, you would be doing the exact same thing."

George just stared at his only sister, but Fred picked up the slack. "I really have no idea what you're talking about, dearest baby sister. It's of supreme indifference to us both if you like standing in dark hallways by an air vent. Goodness knows it's cold and I would completely understand why you would want to have a lie-in by the heater. Do carry on, won't you?"

Ginny looked befuddled. "What the devil are you talking about?"

George laughed. "I think what he means is _we didn't see anything."_

Fred and George turned and advanced down the stairs without a second glance.

"Can you believe them?" said Ginny, listening for their footsteps down the staircase.

Hermione laughed quietly while Harry placed his hand over the warm vent and whispered, _"Accio!" _

The Ears shot up to his palm and he caught them with a quick swipe of the hand when they popped through the grate.

There was a loud slam from upstairs and a moment later a set of large feet appeared on the stairway. Harry recognized them instantly as Ron's.

"Am I too late?" he said, peering down at them from his height.

"No," whispered Ginny, "And keep your voice down you git, or you'll get us all caught."

Silently, Harry moved even further and allowed Ron to have his space at the vent.

"Where are the Ears?" questioned Ron quietly, falling to his knees beside Harry.

Ginny gasped. "Oh, they fell down the heater!"

"No they didn't," said Harry. "I caught them before the fell through."

"Oh, thank God," whispered Ginny with relief. "I didn't want to go to the trouble of rummaging through George's trunk for more. Here, I have yours, Ron."

Ginny passed Ron the skinny, rubber string and Ron placed it in his ear. He settled himself between Ginny and Harry.

"Who are we waiting for?" inquired Ron.

"Dumbledore, Mad-Eye, Tonks, Hagrid maybe, and Dumbledore's brother, maybe," Ginny told him.

As if her words had summoned it, the door bell rang with a booming chime that shook the whole house.

The quartet heard Mrs. Weasley's feet travel from the dining room to the entryway. The door creaked open and there was laughter from the other side. It sounded drunk, meaning it could only be one person.

"Why hello, Molly!" said the jovial and slurred voice of Mundungus Fletcher.

"Oh yeah, I forgot Dung," Ginny whispered hurriedly. Because of their closeness to the entryway, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny had no trouble overhearing.

"Mundungus, I'm surprised you made it," Mrs. Weasley said with the usual coldness in her voice when she addressed him.

"Well, of course I made it Molly! It's Christmas Eve and yah know I love nothin' more than bein' close to your wittles on Christmas Eve."

They could hear him trudge into the room.

"I meant for the meeting," Mrs. Weasley said derisively.

"Well of course the meeting, of course!" said Dung. "Why else would I be here?"

Mrs. Weasley chose not to answer.

"What is it you have there Mundungus?"

"Why 'tis a crate of butterbeer, Molly darling!"

The four upstairs braced themselves. Mrs. Weasley had never failed to dissuade Mundungus, in no uncertain terms, from bringing the shoddy goods of his thievery over the threshold of Grimmuald Place.

Surprisingly, Mrs. Weasley restrained herself. "Dung," she said sharply, but her voice maintaining the same volume. "We've discussed this before. I don't trust the food you bring in here, no matter how well-meant it is. I don't know who 'distributes' that stuff to you, but I wouldn't trust them as far as I can throw them. You will leave that, out—"

"Now, Molly!" cried Dung; Harry could easily imagine the dilapidated man gesturing heatedly towards his crate of butterbeer, "I got this here crate from a good friend of mine, no, a great friend of mine!" he said with a quiver. "It hurts that you don't trust my friend the way you trust me!"

"Believe me, Mundungus, I trust you just as much as I trust your friends."

"Yes, well," Dung went on, "My good friend Austwin gave me this here crate for the use of the family. Thought it might be nice to have some butterbeer for Christmas—you keeping the kids locked up and them missing Hogsmeade and all."

"I appreciated it, Mun—"

"He even threw in this free holly wreath, Molly!" There was a rustling and a snap as the wreath hit the top of the crate. "Now that's a kindness if there ever was one!" interjected Dung. "Doesn't that tell you something? Doesn't that say my friends are well meaning people?"

"Well-meaning maybe, but I'd still rather have Mr. Weasley take a look at those drinks before we let the kids have a sip. Take it down to the kitchen. Everyone's down there having refreshments."

When Mundungus spoke again he seemed pleased. "The wreath is yours then, Molly; think of it as my Christmas gift to an ever-charmin' hostess."

The heard Mrs. Weasley sigh and click her tongue as Dung proceeded down the stairs with the crate. She went into the dining room to hang the holly wreath.

There was a long period of silence and Harry grew increasingly impatient. All four lying on the floor were so consumed by their task, they failed to notice the dark figure leaning silently on the banister above.

After several more minutes the clanging, reverberating door bell called again. Mrs. Weasley emerged silently into the entryway. The lock shifted and there came a soft, gravelly and growling voice. Mad-Eye Moody.

"Clear?" he whispered in a hushed grumble.

"Remus, Charlie, and Arthur are patrolling. It's clear," said Mrs. Weasley.

"Give us no more than thirty seconds," growled Moody.

"Right."

The foursome waited silently. The door shut again with a light thud. Harry strained his ears to listen. He began counting the seconds, though he wasn't sure what was going on.

_Fifteen…sixteen…seventeen…eighteen…nineteen…twenty…_

On twenty one, there was a soft tap at the door. The tap came four times. First two quick taps then two more.

Mrs. Weasley flung the door open quickly. There was a rustling sound and the hum of shuffling feet, and the _clunk, clunk_ of Moody's wooden stump. The door closed again.

"Hagrid's guarding the rear. Ten seconds," Moody growled.

"Right."

"Hello, Molly," said a pleasant voice. It was Dumbledore.

"Hello, Professor."

Moody was counting aloud now, "six…seven…eight…nine…ten."

He stumped to the door. The door was opened. A large thud echoed through the hall as Hagrid's first foot crossed the threshold.

"You're late," said Moody curtly.

"Barely," Hagrid grunted.

The door closed.

"Is everyone here, Molly?" said Dumbledore amiably. He didn't seem to notice the tenseness in everyone's voice.

"Enough of them. Quickly now. Please, go inside the dining room."

Three sets of feet traipsed, lumbered, and clunked into the dining room. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny heard their diminishing footsteps in the hall, and then heard them clearly with the Ears as they entered the meeting room.

Moments later the door creaked open again. Mrs. Weasley went out, closing the door behind her. When she returned, three pairs of feet were following her.

"Inside, hurry now. They are in the dining room. I'll get the rest."

Lupin, Mr. Weasley, and Charlie were all silent and followed the previous party into the dining room. Harry listened closely, but there was no sound from the dining room. He found it odd that they did not greet each other.

Finally, Moody said, "No one?"

Mr. Weasley answered, "No one."

In the foyer, the door leading to the kitchen opened. Footsteps of about five or six people, Harry couldn't tell, clamored up the stairway. They all went wordlessly to the dining room.

Harry felt Hermione's body tense next to him. All the Order was in one room now to debate and plan matters of critical importance that the rest of the Wizarding Community were oblivious to. Not even Harry or the three upstairs knew how truly imperative, significant, and life-sustaining this organization was. What they would hear at this meeting was only a fraction of the active assignments the Order of the Phoenix was involved in. Hermione knew this from what she had picked up over the two years she had been living next to Order members, but she doubted Harry knew. Listening through an air vent to an Order meeting was pathetic, if not stupid, but Hermione was glad she was doing it. She had a keen interest in the organization, the one barrier to Voldemort's malevolent rise.

"Shall we begin?" said a severe voice. There was pause and the voice went on. It took Harry a moment to realize it was Mr. Weasley. He felt Ron tense up slightly to his left. Mr. Weasley sounded nothing like he usually did. He sounded impatient and anxious. There was sharpness in his voice Harry had never heard before, it was authoritative and unsettling. He listened closer.

"Who are we missing, first of all?" said Mr. Weasley.

Lupin answered, "Tonks."

"She contacted me this afternoon. She was visiting Shreya Limbron at St. Mungo's," said Dumbledore quietly making it hard for Harry to hear. "She's the witch who was cursed during the break-in at the Hall of Prophecy in October."

There was a murmur or remembrance around the room.

"Did she find out anything?" It was Professor McGonagall who spoke.

"I do not know, Minerva," Dumbledore informed her. "I have not spoken to her since she left for St. Mungo's. She said she would be here, though she would be running late."

"Let us hurry on, then," said Mr. Weasley. "It's Christmas Eve and many of us will be missed at home if we tarry too long here."

There was murmuring and someone said, "Shh!" Silence prevailed again.

"The first matter is with Severus."

A chair scraped against the floor of the dining room, and Harry guessed Snape stood up.

"Yes, the first matter is," he paused, "We have officially confirmed that all Dementors have left Azkaban entirely."

There was a gasp; Harry presumed it was Mrs. Weasley.

Snape went on without pause. "Our embedded emissary there has informed me that the cells are now entirely guarded by wizards. They Dementors have left, all of them. There is no doubt to where they have gone."

Silence followed this statement. Harry felt like his heart was binded inside him, beating with much difficulty. Dementors still scared him very much. Now the fiends took their orders from Voldemort. Harry's mind flashed down the vista of possible encounters he could have with a Dementor. Next time, it wouldn't be two Dementors sent by Dolores Umbridge. It could be a thousand, sent by Voldemort, their goal to kill and destroy. The thought chilled him to the marrow of his bones.

Snape spoke again, and Harry snapped his full attention to the unpleasant voice of his professor.

"I don't expect the _Daily Prophet_ will get wind of it for several months. The Ministry knows, of course, but only a choice few. The Dark Lord will be able to send them down on us all and there will be no investigation, know one will suspect Dementors. We shall have to be on watch for that, as well."

Harry heard Snape seat himself again.

A protracted silence followed Snape's words. Harry felt as though someone should talk, offer reassurance. Dumbledore didn't speak.

Mr. Weasley did speak, however. "Thank you, Severus." His voice sounded shaky. "Professor?"

It was McGonagall who spoke next. "Yes, well the renovations to Hogwarts are well underway by myself and my fellow professors. They have no idea, of course, what we are looking for. But, thus far, no enemy surveillance or tampering has been found. And Albus, I have personally checked on the condition of the Screening Charm." She paused, "I expect the renovations to be done by January fourth, if all goes well. I have also personally placed weaker Screening Charms over all of Harry's classrooms, save Care for Magical Creatures."

Harry perked up at the mention of his name, his Ear almost slipping through the grate. _Screening Charm?_

He whispered to Hermione, "Screening charm—what's that?"

"I don't know. Shh!" she whispered back irritably.

"Good," Dumbledore was saying. He sounded tired, and quieter than usual. Again Harry had to listen harder to hear his muted words. "I thank you for that. How goes the Animagus training?"

"Well," McGonagall sighed. "Miss Granger is outstanding beyond definition. She is nearly at full transformation. Quite remarkable. At three months into my Animagus training I could barely handle a tail, now she is almost done."

There was pride in the old woman's voice. Next to Harry, Hermione squirmed with pleasure.

"The boys, on the other hand, no where near as well," said McGonagall severely. "Harry has decided on a griffin…yes I know the significance. Ron has chosen the timber wolf, Eastern timber wolf. They will be doing their first transformations at the start of the new term."

"And their Defensive magic, Remus?" asked Dumbledore.

"All three are doing extremely well, especially Harry. He mastered Pain Deflection long before the other two, but I haven't told him he's practically mastered it, lest he think he can stop practicing it."

Harry sniffed with indignation and astonishment. _I've mastered it, _he thought absently with satisfaction. Ginny smacked him on the head for silence, and Harry pressed his face to the grate again.

"They are learning a variety of new spells, dueling hexes and such. All three are rather good and I have confidence that when faced with an actual challenge they will do well, or at least not freeze up. They need more practice, far more practice, but they are progressing well enough."

The bluntness in Harry's favorite teacher's voice surprised him. It seemed Mr. Weasley was not the only one who was not himself at meetings. Usually Professor Lupin was very good at talking around questions; this candor was surprising.

Hermione astutely realized he hadn't mentioned how she, Harry, and Ron had learned all those dueling curses. He didn't mention the D.A. and she was glad. He was true to his word not to tell anyone, even the Order of the Phoenix.

Lupin went on for several more minutes regarding further lessons he planned to teach Harry. Harry vaguely realized that this meeting was turning out to be entirely about him, save the news about the Dementors. It unsettled him greatly. Was he so important that Order meetings were entirely centered on him? Yes, he was a voice in Harry's mind answered. He was the key, the weapon that would defeat Voldemort. It was only logical that they talk about how to improve the weapon that would save them all.

Lupin sat down, mentioning how Harry was beginning to take lessons in the Unforgivable Curses, though not from him. He didn't mention Arenso, however, and Harry learned nothing new about him. This man was becoming even more of a mystery. Harry remembered his futile search in the library…

"Now, his Occlumency…" Dumbledore trailed off. Harry listened, ready to pick up anything the headmaster said. He desperately wanted to know how he was doing in Occlumency. Dumbledore never told him. He waited on baited breath. The next words disappointed him.

"Severus, would you tell them? I'm feeling rather under in the weather. I've told you about Harry's progress, do tell them," Dumbledore said.

Fretful mumblings filled the room, but Dumbledore interjected, "No, I'm quite all right, just tired. Not to worry."

"I will certainly speak for you, Headmaster," said Snape. Harry cringed inwardly. He had so wanted to hear Dumbledore's opinion. And he was sure that whatever Snape had to say about his progress wouldn't be at all flattering. He was right.

"Potter's progress is abysmally minimal at best. He still refuses to grasp the concept entirely. It is a difficult magic, to be sure, and I won't explain it for time's sake," Snape allowed. "But after a year a half, Potter still cannot block an infiltration of the mind by the Dark Lord. As you all know, it is absolutely essential to our cause that Potter block such attempts or the Dark Lord will have access to all the information Potter _hears_."

For one breathtaking moment, Harry was sure Snape knew he was listening one floor above. He held his breath, and Snape went on.

"Needless to say, the Headmaster has realized this. Thus, the Headmaster has placed several strenuous Screening Charms in Potter's dormitory and in the Great Hall. The Charm protects him from the Dark Lord's infiltration, somewhat. At least, if the Dark Lord should try to enter Potter's mind, he will not be able to understand anything he encounters. It cannot protect Potter forever, and it is very draining for the Headmaster. A Screening Charm must be performed by only the most capable of wizards, and while the Headmaster is that," said Snape, pausing to think how best to explain, "The Charm requires an arduous amount of energy that the Headmaster could focus elsewhere."

Dumbledore interrupted. "Thank you, Severus. I would not have phrased everything the way you did, but thank you just the same."

"Of course, Headmaster," said Snape. Harry heard Snape sit down through the drumming of blood in his ears. He was trembling with anger, with indignation, and regret.

Before Harry could even think of a reaction, something caught his attention.

"Did you hear that?" It was Moody who spoke in a deathly whisper. "Someone's shouting."

There was a tremendous shift. All those in the dining room and the four listening above felt a reverberation as Hagrid jumped to his feet.

Tormenting silence befell the room as everyone listened intently.

Then they all heard it-- everyone downstairs, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny, and the shadowed man one flight of stairs above. It was petrifying and desperate, screaming and wrought with terror.

"DUMBLEDORE!" shrieked an unearthly and unrecognizable voice.

Harry heard someone stand up quickly; it must have been Dumbledore. The screaming was growing closer, just outside the door now.

"To the entryway!" said Dumbledore with measured calm. "It's Tonks."

There was a great rush out of the meeting room; Harry could hear Dumbledore's light tread in the lead, quickly followed by the stumping trot of Moody.

Harry got off the floor and stood. Hermione was next to him, then Ron, then Ginny. They all looked worriedly at each other. None of them noticed the Extendable Ears had fallen through the grate.

"What do you reckon is going on?" said Ron tersely and hurriedly. He crept toward the stairway and leaned over. Harry, Hermione, and Ginny followed, leaning over themselves to watch the scene bellow in the entryway.

Dumbledore had flung open the door and Tonks immediately stormed in, throwing herself onto Dumbledore.

Her eyes were red, her purple hair disheveled. She looked an absolute wreck. It was gently snowing outside and her cloak was soaked through. Her face was sticky with tears and snow and her mouth was trembling, but not enough to stop her from relaying her message.

"Dumbledore!" she yelled at the headmaster and the assembled people around her. "Dumbledore! I'm sorry I couldn't get here sooner! I'm sorry! You know how you can't Apparate within a mile of here. I had to run! I ran!"

"Nymphadora!" Dumbledore shouted sharply. He could tell Tonks was near hysteria. "What is wrong? What has happened?" He was cold, majestic, and powerful. Harry had only seen him like this twice before.

"He knows, Professor!" Her fingers clenched his silky robes. "_He _knows! I was tipped off, tonight. There's going to be an attack! An attack here! We've got to get everyone out now! There's going to be an attack!"

Dumbledore didn't get in another word.

"Oh my God, the children!" cried Mrs. Weasley.

"The papers!" yelled Charlie and he took off towards the dining room.

Meanwhile, Tonks was panicking. "I don't know what kind of attack it is! But we got to get Harry out! Now! _Right now!_

Everyone in the entryway took in a breath, realizing she was right. Their weapon was about to be destroyed.

Dumbledore took charge. "Someone find him quickly! Bring him out to the lawn and run as far as you can! Everyone else, get the other children and salvage what you can from the house!"

The crowd dispersed, some to the kitchen, some to the other rooms in the house. Many came upstairs, straight at Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny.

For some reason, only one thing Dumbledore had said stuck to Harry. _Salvage what you can from the house. _

Harry's mind traveled through all his possessions: his school books, his robes, Hedwig, his cauldron…meaningless things…and then it landed on his Firebolt. Sirius had given him that broom…_Sirius_. _Sirius's things._

Time slowed down for one immeasurable second. Harry could hear Lupin, Mrs. Weasley, Moody, and Hagrid running up the stairs, Hagrid skipping four at a time. They were all trying to get to him—but he _couldn't_ let them get him. Not yet.

Harry turned swiftly toward the staircase, and moved to bolt upstairs.

Hermione flung her arms around him, and pulled him back.

"Are you crazy!? Didn't you hear them? You have to get out of here! _Now_!"

She sounded hysterical with worry, but Harry didn't listen. He pushed off her arms and sprinted up the stairs, two at a time.

_Salvage what you can_. Only one thing mattered.

He ran up the flight. The third floor. Down the hall. Door to the right. Sirius' room.

Harry slammed through the door into the quiet sanctuary of his godfather's room. He breathed in dust, but he forgot to sneeze. He could hear more feet racing up the stairs to him. _Not yet. Not yet_, said Harry's mind.

Harry dropped to his knees in front of the wardrobe. He ripped out the bottom drawer. The papers and photographs spilled onto the floor, Harry huddled them in his arms, making sure he picked up the yearbook and photo album he had gone through before. He was bending over to pick up more when something caught him hard in the stomach.

"Drop it, Harry! Now!" It was Lupin and he was hauling Harry to his feet.

"NO!" Harry roared, swiping furiously for more photographs and more papers. "I won't let it go!" Harry knew he sounded like a petulant child, he hated himself for yelling at Lupin, but these were his godfather's things. _His_ _things_. The only things left. Harry wouldn't let them go.

Another arm caught Harry around the middle and Harry was suddenly lifted off his feet. Hagrid's huge bearded face loomed over him, red with the sheen of sweat across his face. "Have it your way then, Harry," he said.

Harry was lifted into his arms, like a child, and Harry felt pictures slip from his grasp.

He kicked Hagrid as hard as he could, but, of course, it did nothing. Hagrid turned and Harry could hear Lupin and Moody running and stumbling after Hagrid as he carried Harry down the stairs.

On the second floor, all the doors were flung open. Hermione and Ginny were in their room thrashing about gathering their belongings.

"Levitate the trunks for God sakes!" someone yelled. "The law doesn't matter now!"

Harry turned his head and caught the briefest glimpse of Ron levitating Harry's and his own trunk with his wand. George was yelling, his face contorted from its usual cheery disposition. Everywhere there was chaos and screaming and orders being shouted and people running and someone crying and items smashing and feet stamping and people flying out onto the lawn and into the night Harry felt weak and useless, so he clung to Sirius' treasures even harder. He wouldn't let go.

Harry thought fleetingly of the pile of Christmas presents under the tree in the drawing room. He wanted to see Hermione's face light up when she got hers. He wanted to know what she got Ron, the bribery. He wanted the three of them to be happy again.

Hagrid and Harry were in the entryway. Harry clung to his friend as the cold, biting air reached them.

"EVERYONE OUT, NOW!" Harry heard Dumbledore shout.

There were screams from inside, no one caring if any Muggle should hear them. Hagrid continued sprinting across the wide lawn towards Dumbledore, taking huge, tremendous steps. Hagrid carried Harry like an infant needing to be sheltered. It reminded the old half-giant of the night he had carried Harry in his arms as a baby, a new cut on his forehead. All he knew now was that Harry was helpless again and he would take care of him, James and Lily's child. He would take care of him.

Harry wasn't thinking the same thing. He wanted out of Hagrid's tight hold. He wanted to make sure he had everything of Sirius's. He wanted to make sure Hermione was all right. That she was out. That Ron was out, that he was ok.

He didn't seriously think anything bad would happen; he just wanted them with him and safe.

Harry was finally set down when Hagrid stopped next to Dumbledore. They were far from the house on the other side of the street; the long turf separating them from the front door with a twisted serpent on the front.

Lights were pouring onto the snow. It was deathly dark and the light shown like cat's eyes in the night. Shadows flitted beyond the windows while figures spilled out the front door. Harry saw two small figures emerge through the door, accompanied part way by a stout woman, Mrs. Weasley.

Next came three other figures. One tall and skinny, the other two identical and stocky. Four trunks were zooming after them. They ran, full out, to where Harry, Dumbledore, Hagrid, and several other Order members stood.

Harry sniffed an acrid smell as his friends ran across the lawn. Something horrible and offending.

Through Harry's disbelieving daze, he heard his voice speak, normal and inquisitive.

"What's that smell, Professor?"

Dumbledore did not look at him; his cold blue eyes were focused on the house, watching the last figures begin to emerge. "It's the prologue," he said.

Harry didn't understand. He couldn't ask for clarification.

"TONKS! GET OUT OF THERE NOW!" shouted Dumbledore. There no trace of the weak man at the meeting. The hem of his splendid robe was soaked through with snow, but that didn't stop the soft glimmer the robe reflected from the streetlamps.

Suddenly, there was a peak in the stench and Harry felt his eyes water, his nostrils flare. And before he could take a cleansing breath, a rumbling rattled under his feet. Only a short, low murmuring rumble, and then the house exploded. Exploded in roaring flames that ignited in one instant, shooting the resiny smell of burning wood into the air. The lights from the windows were replaced with tongues of fire. Smoke plumed from every crevice and opening of the house, like dark fingers stroking the blue twilight of the night. The loud roar of popping air and the clatter of collapsing furniture filled the air like the screams of dying children. His godfather's house was burning.

Harry came to himself then. He wasn't a child. He didn't need Hagrid to protect him. He was himself again, taking on the burdens Life had shoved onto his lap. He sprinted forward, towards the fire.

He heard shouts behind him. Harry didn't listen, looking urgently for Hermione and Ron. He had to make sure they were ok. Once he knew they were, then he could think, then he could be rational. But now, he needed them both with him.

"Ron!" Harry shouted. The fire was so bright, he was blinded. Tongues of heat shimmered in the air, washing over him like waves. He felt a hand on his shoulder. Harry turned and found Ron. Harry smiled gratefully.

"Hermione!" they both shouted and Hermione emerged from a clump of Order members staring in awe at the burning house.

The three stood together silently, looking at the house. A house that had become their homes put together. They had all given up so much to live there, to fight for the protection of their vulnerable Headquarters.

Someone wailed behind them. Ron turned first and ran.

Mrs. Weasley was lying in the snow, her hands covering a tear-soaked face. Her husband was beside her, holding her in his arms. Charlie was kneeling beside his mother, stroking her hair and Ginny held on to her father. Ron joined the twins and they too collapsed on the ground by their mother and tried their best to comfort her without saying anything, for they really couldn't. Mrs. Weasley was inconsolable, and so were they.

Everyone had got out all right. No one had died. Mrs. Weasley was not crying for fear of someone dying. Grimmuald Place was her home. It had become so in light of the insecurity of the Burrow. She loved the house as her own and it was gone.

"Christmas!" she cried and her scream was so woebegone that they were all caught by the throat from the sheer sorrow of it. "Christmas Eve! How could this have happened? Why? Our home! Our home!"

Harry couldn't think about that now. He didn't want to think about his home. His godfather's home. Sirius' home. Gone. The one thing he had left, save a few pictures lying in the snow?

On the fire lit snow, Harry turned and saw how humans could comfort each other while they comforted themselves. The Weasleys transplanted all their grief into their mother, for she really was the strongest of them all and could deal with all their grief, while she dealt with hers. McGonagall and Snape looked dispiritedly towards the house, feeling as though they had lost nothing more than a splendid Headquarters. Emmeline Vance looked sorrowfully at the ground, Dedalus Diggle at her side. They hadn't known or loved the house, but their blood still raced with the excitement of the mad flight, while their hearts went out to Mrs. Weasley on the ground. Lupin held a crying, but emotionally-spent Nymphadora Tonks. She wanted to cry and he wanted to hold her until they both felt sane enough to face a world that had just shaken them so roughly. Hagrid's, Moody's, and Dumbledore's minds were alive with plans. Plans of where to go, plans of what to do now that their headquarters was gone. They would need protection. They would need a sanctuary.

But Mundungus, Mundungus was by himself. His droopy clothes looked even droopier. _His_ mind was alive with wonder. With wonder at the enemy. An enemy that had so efficiently planted a destructive device in the very heart of its enemy's headquarters. He did not know he was the one that had let in the bomb.

Harry and Hermione stood by themselves. Hermione wove her arm through Harry's and leaned her head in the crook of his shoulder. Harry felt her knees give way and she fell silently to the ground, bringing Harry down with her. Harry knew she hadn't fainted, Hermione wasn't the fainting type. She was simply tired and shocked. She would cry later. All she wanted now was silence and time to think.

Harry pulled her gently to his chest, isolating them from the rest in the fire lit snow. He held Hermione carefully and stroked her hair. He needed her to distract him from the inferno above him. He couldn't think about that now, and right now she needed him.

Softly, he could hear Tonks untangle herself from Professor Lupin. Her boots crunched in the snow and she stopped next to Dumbledore.

"What will we do now? Where will we go? Where?" she said desperately and urgently.

"Hogwarts…Hogwarts—it is the only place that is safe." Dumbledore remained quiet after that.

Harry turned back to Hermione, and tried to control himself. He could hear Mrs. Weasley weeping and it tore at his heart. He could hear Ginny sniffling and it tore at his heart more.

And he heard Hermione sigh and say, "What will we do now, Harry?"

Harry's heart decided right then, not to be torn.

He couldn't let a burning house conquer him. It could conquer everyone else, but not him.

He bent over Hermione, sheltering her with his broad chest. Harry picked up her chilled hands and wove them with his. He didn't say a word and kissed the top of her head.

Grimmuald Place Number 12 was nothing now. It was the past. The Muggles of Grimmuald Place Number 11 were partying inside their warm house, the stereo blasting. They hadn't noticed, heard, or smelt anything. They didn't see some of the most important wizards in the world sprawled out in an empty lot. It _was_ an empty lot now; Harry would have to move on. He had salvaged what he could, but no more, there was work to be done. No burning house would conquer him or those he loved.

His mind fell to Voldemort and it stayed there, wanting to do battle.

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It snowed today. It actually snowed on Christmas Eve in South Texas. There's only one word for it: insane. A white Christmas, just insane. I did try to go sledding, and I failed miserably. Body boards don't make good sleds. This is turning out to be the best Christmas ever!

My longest chapter yet, and it should be right? When it took 6 months for me to update? 24197 words. I thank you for waiting and to everyone has been supportive of the story when others didn't understand. Thanks so much, I hope you enjoyed it.


	20. Release

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters mentioned in this fanfiction. Harry Potter and all characters from the Harry Potter Series are property of J.K. Rowling.

**New Beginnings **

**Chapter Twenty: Release**

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He would have to move on. He had salvaged what he could, but no more, there was work to be done. No burning house would conquer him or those he loved.

His mind fell to Voldemort and stayed there, wanting to do battle.

Voldemort couldn't have known that on the night he destroyed Harry's home, he had made Harry into a most determined foe—one that would not give in for anything. One that would never waver from his vision of a satisfactory victory of a most devastating subjugation by the once great Lord Voldemort.

Harry _was_ determined. But for now, determined to move on, to rebuild, to reorganize. He wanted happiness, peace, for those who he loved. The ones who needed it. And by returning to Hogwarts, he felt that that was the first step.

No one talked much on the trip back to the school. Dumbledore had Apparted them to Hogsmeade and Hagrid had gone into the forest to assemble a team of thestrals. The tension was tangible in the air while they waited for Hagrid's return. Mr. Weasley, Moody, Lupin, Charlie, and the twins were on their brooms patrolling the patch of forest the party hid in. Harry didn't know why, but the adults did not wish for the citizens of Hogsmeade to know of their return to the school.

Hagrid arrived and the rest of the trip was a blur of being jostled about in the carriage, Hagrid and Moody on either side of him. Hermione and Ron were in a separate carriage with Dumbledore. Harry got the feeling that Hagrid and Moody were acting as his bodyguards. It took Harry some time to quell his indignation that he needed protection and adjust to the attention he received from them. But he resigned himself to it in the uneasiness of the situation.

And in spite of his buried resentment, Harry found himself impressed with the orchestrated and professional nature of it all. Dumbledore was in another carriage, not requiring nearly as much protection as Harry. But they were separated in the mind-set that if one carriage was attacked, it would not have both Harry _and_ Dumbledore in it.

They reached Hogwarts and Harry was ushered inside. The atmosphere of wariness and anxiety did not crack until the whole party had entered the Entryway with the marble staircase in view. Once inside Hogwarts, it was like a tonic to the heart.

It was not even five in the morning on Christmas Day. Hogsmeade had been deserted and so was the castle, but still pristine and cheery at any hour. Harry separated himself from Hagrid and reunited with Hermione and then Ron. They all entered the Great Hall which was already garlanded and frosted with the customary Christmas Day décor.

Mrs. Weasley sat the three of them down, along with Ginny, at the Gryffindor table. She then returned to the adults who were engaged in a whispered conference by the giant oak doors. The four looked at each other, but no one said anything. Harry's mind was alive with ideas. Ron and Ginny appeared drained. Hermione's brow was crinkled with worry.

After a few moments, the adults departed and only Mrs. Weasley remained.

She stopped at the table in front of them, and sat herself down heavily with a sigh. She assumed a false cheeriness and said, "We're going to put you up in the Gryffindor Tower. There are no other students in the whole castle—for the renovations, you see."

Harry nodded as Mrs. Weasley pushed back a strand of her graying hair from her eyes. She looked very old, and very tired. She had been crying in the snow only hours before. Ron and Ginny couldn't meet her eyes, just as many children can't when they observe weakness in their parents…when they had thought them above such things.

The weary four somberly retired to the Tower. Upon entering the common room, they found Mad-Eye already fast asleep on the sofa by the fire. Lupin, Charlie, Fred and George, and Diggle were to occupy the 7th year dormitory just below the 6th year room, Harry was informed. Ginny and Hermione left them reluctantly and returned to their dormitory. Harry and Ron proceeded quietly to their own.

They found they dormitory quite how they had left it. Their trunks were already at the foot of their beds and the bed sheets and hangings were drawn back. The only thing lacking was the presence and most of the belongings of Neville, Seamus, and Dean.

Harry and Ron spoke not a word to each other and slipped off their shoes and then crawled into bed.

Harry had first thought, as he settled himself inside the folds of his warm blankets, that sleep would not come easily after all that had happened. But for once his body complied and Harry fell asleep almost instantly, forgetting everything from the destruction of Grimmuald Place to the fact that today was Christmas Day.

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When Harry awoke, it was to the sound of a gentle breeze lifting Dean's Quidditch posters. The gentle flapping of the paper against the bricks of the wall was soothing and there was a gentle thudding on the roof like footsteps.

Harry blinked and tried to bargain with Sleep once more. It wasn't to be. He swung his legs over the side and collided with his chest of drawers. He had forgotten which side to get up on. Rubbing his ankle, he retrieved his glasses and separated the bed curtains.

The breeze was coming from the open window beside Ron's bed. Harry moved to close it and stop the chill from making the room into an ice chamber. He glanced at Ron's bed and found it empty.

Harry's brow crinkled and a muted sound came from the roof again. Harry listened carefully and stuck his head outward from the sill. A pair of feet was hanging off the edge of the roof a few feet away, dangling in the wind.

Harry placed a foot on the sill and hoisted himself up, clinging to the rough texture of the roof and swinging a leg up, quietly. Once atop the steep incline of the tower, he rubbed his red hands together, and cursed himself for not bringing shoes, the roof was covered in early morning snow.

There was no mistaking who was occupying the roof. A shock of red hair and Ron's gangly form were sitting precariously on the edge of the roof. All the snow had been wiped away from where Ron sat by the magic of some warming spell, and as Harry approached, Ron called out.

"Sit down. You'll miss sunrise."

Harry sat down next to Ron and hung his feet over the side.

"What are you doing up here?" said Harry.

"I come up here sometimes," Ron returned somewhat stiffly. "It has a good view."

It really did. Harry's gaze passed over the whole west side of the castle, cold, gray and deserted, but elegant as it always was. The frosted lake was practically under their feet and the rough terrain of Scotland spread out before them, lit by the pastel glow of the new rising sun. The mountains were lined in steely haze that rested below the clouds, and as the sky grew brighter, Harry could hear the forest wake like a live thing, slowly and deliberately.

There was silence for a long time. The sun boldly shot red rays across the snow as it ascended into the sky, hovering. The golden orb warmed Harry's feet for maybe a minute before the gray clouds of morning rushed to cover its brilliance. Harry passed a glance at Ron. He was watching the mountains with no expression, so Harry looked away.

Seconds later, Ron spoke.

"I can't believe they would do that," said Ron, breathing heavily through his nostrils. "I can't believe it's gone."

Harry nodded. He did not feel ready to talk about last night… but for Ron, Harry listened.

Ron didn't speak for a long while however. The moon to the west was waning into brightened sky.

"I've never seen her cry," he said. Harry knew that Ron was talking about his mother.

The backs of Ron's ears were already bright red, a warning sign.

"She's been so stressed out lately… with the Order. She doesn't have time to do everything she used to. She used to kiss Ginny goodnight every night. Ginny told me she doesn't do that anymore. She doesn't even have time to yell at Fred and George."

Ron sighed deeply. "I suppose I was just surprised to see her cry. Crying is an emotion…and she really hadn't shown any for months."

There was another long, protracted pause.

"I'm going to kill whoever did that to her," Ron said bluntly. Harry eyes widened only slightly.

"Once, I wondered how you ended up without parents and how I ended up with a mum and dad and six siblings. I guess I've been pretty lucky, haven't I? Dad's been involved with the Order since 1978, I think. He's still alive after twenty years."

"I've started thinking…you lost your parents and ended up living with your Muggle relatives. Hermione doesn't live at home anymore, and I don't think she's seen her parents in months. But what's happened to me? Really…honestly…nothing."

Harry didn't know how to respond and seconds passed into minutes. Harry and Ron watched as the gentle yellows of the sky bloomed into gold and the treetops lit up to a vivid green. The lake glimmered with liquid light that flashed like fire.

"I'm starting to realize that it's _my_ family's turn now…. I know…when I graduate I'm going to join the Order and Ginny will too. One day Percy will wise up and join too once he stops thinking of the Order as some radical faction. My whole family will be in it in a matter of years. Nine of us. How long can our luck last?"

Harry stiffened, remembering how last year Mrs. Weasley had expressed a similar thought. She feared her family wouldn't make it to the end without one of them dying.

If Ron was realizing his family was in danger, Harry was realizing more and more how fateful his role in this story would be. The fates of Ron's family, his parents' and Sirius' afterlife, Hermione's reunification with her family, everything he loved was twisting itself into a tangled braid of deliverance dependent on him.

They all spoke of the End. The end, when they would be safe, in heaven, reunited, at peace. _The end._He realized more and more that he _was_ the end of it all. He lay at the end of every path. His actions, his thoughts, his soul determined the happiness of everyone he loved, cared for, didn't care for, and despised.

"Fighting Voldemort cost you your parents," Ron went on. "It cost you your happiness as a kid. It's costing Hermione her family too. It's costing everyone in the Order their honesty and energy as they have to lie to make things appear normal to the world. For Mum, it's costing her time with us at a time when she should be enjoying her last years raising us." He paused momentarily, and then said it. "I think we'll all have a price to pay at the end of all this, and my price will be my family. We're not all going to make it through alive…"

"Ron!" Harry said, surprised. "Don't say that!" It felt taboo. Harry felt as if he should do something or it would become true.

"No, Harry. I've been too lucky," Ron said without looking at him. "Twenty years and my family hasn't been touched. Now the end is coming soon…and my family is not going make it through intact. It's just not possible."

Right then, Harry considered for the first time since June of telling someone about the Prophecy. The temptation was overwhelming. Harry felt he must tell him. Ron should know he, Harry, could make it turn out all right. Harry could make the end come quickly. He'd protect Ron's family. He'd kill Voldemort before any in Ron's family breathed their last. He wouldn't let anything happen to them as long as he lived. The Weasleys were his family too. Who better to tell the Prophecy to than his own family?

What stopped him from saying so, Harry wasn't sure. The words seemed to form on his lips and press against the skin that resided there, but nothing came out. Perhaps he feared Ron's reaction. Perhaps he feared Ron would hinge all his hopes for his family's well-being on his head. Harry couldn't take anymore of that. Perhaps he feared Ron would be angry that he hadn't told him sooner. Perhaps he feared sharing the burden of the Prophecy with anyone, even Ron. Whatever the reason, Harry kept silent.

Ron continued speaking however.

"I don't think this is superstition or something, like I've seen the Grim stalking the nine of us. It's not bad karma or something like that. It's just that the end is drawing nearer and even though I don't know how this is all going to end, one of us is going to give up our life. I don't know who but it will happen…its only fair."

Harry was suddenly struck by the idea that perhaps Ron would be the one, the one to die, that Ron would leave him forever. Instinctively, Harry lunged forward, catching a glimpse of the lake sixty feet below, and grabbed hold of one of Ron's shoulders.

"That won't happen!" he shouted. "It won't because I won't let it!"

Ron looked startled; Harry's hands were trembling on his shoulders and Ron froze under his grasp. Harry's jade eyes burned with resolution. Ron looked at him carefully.

Finally, Harry released his grip and turned back around.

After a while, Ron released a sigh rather loudly and spoke. "We all have to give up something," Ron said. "Some things just aren't worth getting hung up about, are they?" he said with a smile.

Harry didn't know what he meant; his mind was still too compacted with visions of Ron's death and rebellious urges to tell Ron about the Prophecy.

"Of course, this is Hermione we're talking about."

Harry looked up at the mention of Hermione's name. "What are you talking about?"

Ron sighed, but smiled with some reluctance. He learned back and squinted at the illuminated clouds.

"Nothing really, just that…what's the point in fighting with your best friend over a girl when you're in the midst of fighting Voldemort? Seems rather idiotic, doesn't it?"

"What?" Harry said confused. Harry didn't even register that Ron had just used Voldemort's name for the first time.

"My God, you are dense," Ron laughed and he turned on his side toward Harry. "Obviously, my attempt to change the topic isn't working. We'll just keep talking about death, shall we?"

"No, no." Harry said with a shake of the head. "What did you say about her?"

Ron paused. "Just that…enough's enough."

"Enough?"

Ron slumped against the roof, placing a hand over his auburn eyes.

"I've liked her for a long while now," he said slowly.

Harry hesitated, asking himself if his response would make Ron angry. "I know…"

Ron closed his eyes and exhaled softly so Harry wouldn't hear. "I don't like this. This feeling that you're always taking things away from me. It's gotten worse over the years and I don't know how to get rid of it, because I don't like being mad at you, but I don't like you taking what I want; I suppose that's big of me…"

"What things did I take?" said Harry defensively.

"What things?" Ron laughed inwardly. "I'm sure I've gotten to the point where I look for things you've taken from me without realizing it. Just, glory I suppose. I like recognition like anyone else. Glory, fame, money—you have it all. And now the girl. Will we always be wanting the same things?"

"But that's just it. I don't want it, the glory, the money," Harry said dully. He had been saying this for years.

"But you have it, don't you?" Ron retorted harshly.

Harry bit his tongue.

The hand on Ron's forehead moved to his red locks, smoothing them back against his freckled brow.

"The captainship is another…" Ron paused and laughed quietly. "I know there's more, but I can't remember."

"Maybe that means their not important." Harry stated, somewhat annoyed. He really couldn't help any of this. It had all been given to him—he hadn't asked for it.

Ron looked at him, looking slightly irritated. "All right, so maybe they aren't very important, but when they happen everyday, they tend to pile up."

"I imagine so," Harry said dryly.

"And now you've taken Hermione."

"I feel like I should point out that if she were here, she'd be offended if she heard us talking about her like an object."

Ron blew air threw his lips, dismissing the idea. "All I'm saying is how am I supposed to feel about this? What am I supposed to do?"

"You could hit me," Harry offered.

"No, you're eye hasn't quite healed yet."

"Oh," Harry smiled.

Ron sighed. "I'm not going to hurt you. There's no point. Didn't I just tell you how there's more important things for us to worry about?"

"Yes, but…you're not going to do anything? I mean, it's not like you. What exactly are you saying?"

Ron paused, not knowing why he felt so blank about it. He really loved Hermione, didn't he? That's what he'd been telling himself for two years. He kept waiting for his feelings to be reciprocated. Was there any point in waiting now, when his best friends were falling in love with each other?

If humans were practical beings, the answer would be "no". But love dies hard, and Ron still believed in hope. His heart still craved to hold Hermione, to take her, care for her, kiss her, love her. But…Harry was already doing all that. He'd won again. Won liked he'd won everything else. Somewhere along the way, Ron had missed a step and Harry had gone on ahead.

"I'm saying my life isn't fair, basically. But yours is finally working out."

Harry laughed dryly.

"You've got a great girl now," Ron said. "Annoying, yes. Bossy, yes. Intelligent, yes. But generally all right."

"What are you saying…?" Harry repeated.

"I'm saying: take her. You win. She's yours. No more of this."

Harry was silent for a long time. Ron felt a great deal of anger, still, but apathy and uncertainty were growing in prominence inside of him. He'd given up his crush of well over two years. But had he really? Was it only in name? Could he really handle Harry and Hermione as a couple? It was almost too sickening to think about. Things wouldn't be the same.

Harry was still confused, however, as to how it had all come about. Less than twelve hours ago, the two hadn't been talking to each other. Now Ron was giving his blessing to the relationship? But Harry couldn't even have a relationship with her. He really couldn't. One obstacle was out of the way, but what about the prophecy? Right then, the Prophecy didn't seem very important at all, but the nagging part of Harry's brain silently expressed its discontent.

"Ron," Harry spoke, breaking the fragile silence, "I can't. It's not right—"

"That you what? Be a couple? Why wouldn't it be right? Everyone in school already knows and I say it's ok."

"It's not that," said Harry drawn. "I can't get any closer her now…"

For the first time that morning, concern passed over Ron's face. The crease on his forehead appeared and his eyes wrinkled at the corners.

"Why? Is something wrong? Did she say something to you? Is there something you aren't telling me?"

Harry shook his head automatically. "Nothing."

Ron didn't seem to believe him and regarded him suspiciously for a moment. But after a while he sighed.

"Harry, if you really love her, you couldn't stay away from her. Not ever. You can't just ignore Hermione, its Hermione for God's sake. But if you don't want her, that's fine with me," said Ron, faking detachment.

"No! No," said Harry too quickly. "It's nothing. Forget about it."

Ron laughed. "I didn't think so."

Harry paused, taking in the moment of levity.

"Ron?"

Ron grunted.

"Are we friends again?" Harry said, trying to keep the hopefulness in his voice to a minimum.

Ron looked back over the lake.

"I suppose we are."

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It was a Christmas unlike Harry had ever had. It was exactly like all the previous Christmases he had had at Hogwarts: same decorations, same foods, same holiday crackers—but there were no other Hogwarts students besides Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny. Hardly any of the staff were there besides Professors Dumbledore, McGonagall, Hagrid, and Lupin. Snape had disappeared. The rest of the party was comprised entirely of the Weasleys and the rest of the Order. And with Mrs. Weasley leading by forced example, the group became a very merry bunch.

When the whole group gathered in the Great Hall for the feast, they all seated themselves around the teacher's table at the end of the Hall as Dumbledore had offered the children the teachers' seats. Harry took the chair usually held by Professor McGonagall and George took Dumbledore's high-backed throne.

It was hard to believe that only twenty-four hours had passed since the whole lot of them had been scrambling in the snow away from Grimmuald Place. Now, things couldn't be more different, and the tingly spirit of Christmas joviality was dramatically augmented by the newly repaired friendship between Harry and Ron. Having not spoken in well over two weeks, the two boys talked as they had never before—as though catching up for lost time. There was no awkwardness, besides the occasional look Ron passed at Hermione, and Harry couldn't remember the last time he had felt so untroubled. He felt like he was a first year again, talking up a storm with his best mate after a fierce Quidditch match.

Hermione was to Harry left and she sat quietly through most of the dinner, observing Harry and Ron and laughing at the jokes passed around the table. She was not the only one staring at Harry and Ron. Mrs. Weasley would pass fond looks down the table towards her youngest son and his best friend and Ginny would look at Hermione from time to time with a perplexed look upon her freckled face as though asking Hermione to explain Ron and Harry's new behavior. Harry, Hermione, the Weasleys, and the whole of the Order laughed more during their feast on Christmas Day than they had in weeks. Perhaps it was the excess amount of mulled mead that was passed around the table, or that they all had finally cracked under the extreme pressure they had been facing, but it seemed that when they had left Grimmuald Place they had also left their fears.

They feasted right into eleven o'clock, the houselves sending a steady flow of creamy soups, juicy meats, steaming vegetables, and pristine desserts to the head table. Harry was refilling his goblet with hot cider for the sixth time, quenching his throat, which was raw from his constant dialogue with Ron, when he glanced over at Hermione, who was gazing off in his direction, the candlelight glowing faintly on her hair.

Harry took a sip of his cider and reached for her hand. Hermione looked up, startled, but held onto his warm fingertips. She smiled and Harry turned back around to Ron. As Harry listened to Ron's words and felt Hermione's small hand in his, he thought that maybe Ron had been right. If he truly loved Hermione, it was impossible for him to stay away from her. He tightened his grip on her hand, showing her he was still thinking of her.

After a while, both their hands rested atop the tablecloth. Without realizing it, Harry was showing all at the table his intentions with Hermione and how they were, most importantly, approved of by Ron. It didn't take long for everyone at the table to notice.

Hermione blushed as Ginny stared down at their intertwined hands, her mouth gaping. Fred and George smiled. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley looked perplexed. Though Harry pretended not to notice, he saw the worried look on Professor Lupin's features, a look duplicated on Hagrid's red bearded face. Professor McGonagall and Dumbledore glanced at each other, a significant look passing between them. Only Hermione noticed this, for Harry had just refocused on his conversation with Ron, Fred, and George, about the new female keeper for the Wimbourne Wasps who was, apparently, quite attractive.

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Finally, even the candles seemed to grow tired—the Hall dimly lit by the small wicks drowning in wax. Harry yawned and let go of Hermione's hand. Dumbledore encouraged Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny to retire to the Common Room, Moody saying he would join them momentarily.

The four of them left the Great Hall in a happy sort of drowsiness, their feet dragging slowly, and their throats groaning when they had to skip a step. Harry and Hermione walked unhurriedly beside each other, while Ron had his arm around Ginny who was almost asleep. They reached the portrait hole and found the Fat Lady, dozing noisily in her frame, the red and gold tinsel in her hair drooping to one side.

Ron woke her by banging on her frame and gave the very irate, two-dimensional woman the password. Ron and Ginny passed inside, and Hermione was about to crawl through the portrait hole after Ron, when Harry caught her around the waist. Before Hermione could speak, Harry pushed her against the wall and kissed her very deeply. The air in her lungs was swept away, and as she gasped against Harry's lips, she saw the Fat Lady look momentarily surprised, but then she began to doze off again. Hermione imagined she'd seen this many times before in the long years since she first began guarding the Gryffindor Tower.

Hermione closed her eyes and ran a hand along Harry's back, pushing him harder against her. He tasted like chocolate and cider. She hadn't been kissed like this since their very first kiss in the Common Room and she had almost forgotten how amazing it had been. As Harry placed his hands on her hips she thought, could anything be more divine than this? This night? When things are finally right again?

Harry ran his tongue not very gently against her lips and smiled when Hermione sucked in a breath and opened her mouth for him. Harry forgot about time and wholly let his senses take over: the smell and taste of her, the feel and sound of her, and his mind was forming the most beautiful, confusing pictures he had ever seen. But what filled him more than anything was the security that he could do this everyday if he liked. It was all right now. He couldn't be kept away from Hermione. Inside, he had always known that. With or without the Prophecy, they couldn't be kept apart. Harry honestly felt he loved her. Not as a friend, or confidant, mother or sister figure. He loved Hermione Granger, the girl becoming a woman, and it was a new strange sensation that he'd truthfully never felt before. It scared him senseless, but at the same time, he had never felt more alive, more in love, more anything. He'd reached the point where there were no more words. Just her and him and anything they wanted.

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Dumbledore extinguished the last of the candles that had made it through the feast and gathering the Order around him, led them out of the Great Hall. With a swish of his wand, the great doors closed and locked behind them. Their jovial spirit was fading and in the steely cold of the entrance way, they came back to themselves.

They talked for a moment as to what was to be done tomorrow. They would have to contact their families, tell them where they were, and give an excuse as to why they were not home for Christmas Day. Dumbledore expressed his desire that the Order members, who were not members of the staff, stay at Hogwarts for the time being, but declined to explain why he felt that necessary.

Professor McGonagall reminded them to be mindful of the renovations still taking place and Professor Dumbledore was just about to offer a nightcap when carriage wheels were heard outside the giant oak doors leading out to the grounds.

Like lightening, the tension of Christmas Eve descended upon them all again.

"Move aside, all of you," Dumbledore commanded, rushing to the doors. He removed his wand and let the doors fly open. Descending from a trestle-drawn carriage was Snape.

There was a sigh of relief among the group as Snape approached. His features were wane and drawn, and for once he did not look his composed, steely self.

The Order closed around him, but Snape, shaking his head, only looked at Dumbledore. The old wizard looked expectantly at the Potions master.

"It appears you were correct, Headmaster," said Snape in a bitter voice, pushing back a strand of his greasy, disheveled hair.

"What has happened?" several people said. "What is wrong, Severus?"

Snape hesitated for a moment as though recalling something difficult.

"It seems," he started, "we were not the only ones attacked last night or today. There have been reports of numerous attacks across the country, as far away as Aberdeen. Wizard killings mostly, as many as fourteen wizards in one attack, and some Muggle killings that are being made to look like pub brawls. I do believe this is what we have been waiting it for. The Daily Prophet is already calling them the Christmas Massacres."

Tonks looked ready to faint, her red-and-green spiked hair drooping. Lupin looked very elderly suddenly and Hagrid sniffed rather loudly. Professor McGonagall's jaw was shaking, but she looked rather unruffled. The Weasley twins' eyes were wide and Mrs. Weasley looked about ready to cry again. Dumbledore said nothing for a moment, but then turned to Tonks, Mundungus, Emmeline Vance, and Dedalus Diggle.

"Yes, stay a while. I do not believe you will be safe if you leave these walls."

They all nodded, without putting up any protest.

Snape interjected suddenly, "There is something else Headmaster. There have also been reports that the Bones girl was killed tonight, along with her entire family who were visiting for the holidays. Her aunt was killed as well."

Emmeline Vance, who knew Amelia Bones very well, let out a cry and broke down right then.

Lupin looked terribly distraught. "Professor—"

"I know, Remus. We will discuss it later," Dumbledore interrupted rather severely. "For now, let us all retire to our rooms, we will rise early to discuss all of this in my office. Emmeline, I will come by your room later."

Emmeline, who was weeping against Dedalus Diggle's shoulder, let out another wail and ran from the Entrance Hall.

Soon all the Order had departed in different directions, speaking hurriedly among themselves. Only Snape stayed, looking down at the floor, waiting with Dumbledore. When the last footsteps of Lupin and Tonks had faded, Dumbledore turned to Snape.

"What did you find out?" he questioned seriously.

"Not very much."

Together, they walked off towards the staff wing, speaking in low voices.

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Another chapter, though short, I hope you are pleased with it. Harry has started to realize something important: that it's ok to be dependent on people. And they're friends again! Which I'm happy about, it's so depressing to write them angry at each other. Next chapter will have Harry's first Animagus transformation, what happened to Arenso, and Harry and Hermione as a, dare I say it, a _normal_ couple?

School let out for me today, so I finally had a chance to post this. I'm going to Disney World later this month, but after that I hopefully will have tons of time to write. I've never felt so stress-free, and I always write my best when I'm not worrying about homework.

Thanks so much to my very dedicated, wonderful reviewers. I've loved reading your comments, requests, questions, and criticism. I ask that you keep reviewing and I'll keep writing. Until next time!

Michelle AD


	21. Vein

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters mentioned in this fanfiction. Harry Potter and all characters from the Harry Potter Series are property of J.K. Rowling.

**New Beginnings **

**Chapter Twenty-One: Vein**

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Harry awoke very early the next morning. Getting dressed silently, he left the dormitory as quietly as possible. Fred and George were slumped against the foot of the door, fast asleep, their wands held loosely in their hands. Harry side-stepped them and descended the stairway to the Common Room.

Everything was quiet and numb on the day after Christmas as though someone had turned off the sound. Harry sighed. He always thought the day after Christmas was the most depressing day of the year. Moving towards the portrait hole he stopped, gazing off in the direction of the Girl's dormitory. He stared up at it longingly, wishing he could float up the rough, stony steps to see her. As he thought this, Harry smiled slightly so that the corners of his mouth lifted—a wolfish smile.

Memories of the previous night were still sharp in his memory. He and Hermione had crawled through the portrait hole after Ron and Ginny an hour later then they should have and only because they heard Lupin walking towards the portrait hole. They had both run swiftly, Hermione laughing under her breath, to their separate dormitories, a fleeting kiss still on Harry's lips as Lupin entered the empty Common Room save Moody asleep on the sofa…

He needed to see her. It felt unnatural not to be able to. But there was no way to speak with her unless she came down the stairs…besides, it was only six in the morning. Too early, even for Hermione when it was a holiday.

Inspiration taking hold, Harry charged up the stairs to his own dormitory, slowing his thundering steps at the sight of Fred and George. Neither of them had heard anything, both consumed in their dreams. Harry was glad deep sleeping ran in the family. Leaning over them, Harry pushed against the door and slipped inside. He trod lightly to his trunk and removed his Firebolt.

A minute later he was in front of the stairway leading to the Hermione's dormitory once more. Mounting his broom, he hovered just slightly above the first step. He leaned forward, holding his breath as he slowly ascended past the second step, then the third, then the fourth. It was then his broom shuddered and stopped. Harry immediately felt a trickle of energy crack against his broom handle, causing it to shake violently. Harry had no sooner blinked in confusion when he was thrown backwards into one of the nearby study tables.

Harry grunted in pain and frustration. Pulling himself off the floor, he waited to see if anyone came to see what had made the noise. When no one came, Harry walked to the stairs once more. Placing his hand into the stairway, he felt the same force pulse against his hand, as though it was something offensive, which Harry supposed it was.

"This is stupid," Harry said softly to himself. "She'll come down soon enough and I'll see her at breakfast."

Harry stood on the sprawling lawn below Gryffindor Tower; the deep trenches of snow that covered the knolls leading to the lake glimmered in the early morning sun. Each crystalline flake was a prism of light that reflected the sun with an almost blinding intensity. The sun did not reach, however, under the shadow of the tower. Harry stood in its momentous silhouette, looking up at a distant window.

"What am I doing?" Harry asked himself vehemently. "She's probably down a breakfast wondering where I am."

Harry turned and looked at the small path he had made with his booted feet, each footprint well defined. Harry sighed and shook his head. _There is something very wrong with me today_, he thought.

Harry threw is left leg over his broom and kicked off the frozen ground. The wind whipped his hair in every direction and slapped his face like a frigid hand. He hovered in front of one window. It was empty and housed six small, empty beds. First or Second years, no doubt.

He rose a little higher to the window third from the top and peeped through a narrow window fogged over with ice. He thought he saw a figure rising out of bed. Harry's heart began beating a little faster as he saw the figure untangle from the sheets. The opaque frost obscured the girl so that she looked hazy and out of proportion. Harry gently scraped his thumb over the glass to get a better look.

The figure turned immediately at the sound with cat-like reflexes. It was then Harry saw a lurid shock of crimson hair pulled into a messy ponytail.

Harry ducked just in time.

"God, what am I?" Harry thought in disgust. "This insane…and perverted."

He looked down at the ground and then up where two more windows waited to be explored. Almost reluctantly, Harry cautiously ascended to the next highest window.

It was bigger than the window in Ginny's dormitory and very much like the one in his own dorm room. Harry peered inside and finally found what he was looking for.

There was Hermione sitting on her bed, wearing a light blue camisole with green and blue flannel bottoms. Her hair was piled atop her head and she was gently sucking on a pink toothbrush while she read some book positioned awkwardly on her knees. Harry didn't know how long he looked at her like that while she moved her toothbrush from left to right. He seriously debated whether he should alert her to his presence and most likely scare her out of her wits in the process. Just as he was about to turn and descend to the ground where he belonged, Hermione looked up.

Harry was instantly paralyzed. If he moved now she would throttle him for his antics later. If he didn't move, she'd just throttle him now.

Instead, Hermione screamed, toothpaste flying from her mouth. Harry snapped out of his paralysis and looked for an avenue of escape. She scrambled to the window and pushed back the lock. The pane opened with an excessively loud creak that Harry was sure the entire Tower could hear.

"Harry! What the hell!?" Hermione sputtered, frantically whipping away foam from her mouth.

Harry said the first thing that came to mind.

"I had to see you. I couldn't get up the stairs cause of the, well…you know what it is," Harry stammered.

"Why?" said Hermione urgently. "Is something wrong? What's happened?"

Harry suddenly felt outstandingly embarrassed. He had no practical reason to be floating fifty feet above the ground other than to get a glimpse of her.

Harry was saved from answering by a knock at the door.

"Quick!" whispered Hermione. "Hide!"

Hermione slammed the window shut, nearly cutting off Harry's fingers and Harry flattened himself against the wall, holding the Firebolt tightly between his legs. He heard Mrs. Weasley's muted voice through the pane.

"I heard a scream, dear," she said. "Is everything all right?"

"I…I saw a rat Mrs. Weasley," Hermione lied. "Horrible, beastly thing. I didn't know what to do, I mean with Crookshanks in the Common Room…and…"

Harry could feel the suspicious look Mrs. Weasley gave Hermione. "A rat?"

"Yes, a rat."

"There are ways to kill rodents, dear. A nifty little spell will do the trick…"

"I know, I know. It was silly of me to scream," Hermione said dejectedly. "I guess we can never be to sure with _rodents_…"

That did the trick.

"Yes, you never can be," said Mrs. Weasley. She seemed mollified but it took another minute of reassurances from Hermione to convince her it had really been nothing but a rat and not her boyfriend dangling outside her window.

Mrs. Weasley closed the door with a snap and Hermione threw open the window once more and leaned out over the ledge.

"Harry Potter, you had better have a good reason for scaring me to death!"

Hermione was always over-emotional when Harry was on a broom.

"I really don't," Harry smiled, floating to her. "I just wanted to see you."

Hermione looked at him strangely. "Well…I was just about to get dressed…" she said, not understanding.

Harry arched on of his eyebrows. "I'm sorry I missed that."

Hermione stared at him. During her confusion, Harry had placed one foot on the ledge in an effort to hoist himself inside.

"Oh, no you don't!" Hermione whispered heatedly pushing his foot off the ledge. "You go straight down right now or I'll scream again!"

Harry pulled away, putting on a hurt expression. "I risk my life to come and see you with this ingenious plan, and you won't even let me in out of the cold."

"Harry," Hermione said, crossing her arms. "Your brilliant plan was to get your broom out of your trunk and fly up to my window. What is so ingenious about that, please tell me?"

"I thought it was romantic," said Harry stoutly.

Harry knew he had won. Hermione had that glint her eye. A glint he wasn't used to seeing directed towards him. Hermione reached over the ledge and grabbed him by the collar, pulling him, broom in tow, into her room.

Harry's broom dropped to the floor. Harry grinned.

"It was the whole _Romeo and Juliet_ approach," Harry explained as Hermione locked her arms behind his neck. "You see, I can't very well scream you sonnets from down there and—"

He was cut short. Hermione was already leaning forward to kiss his chapped lips. Harry could taste the toothpaste in her mouth and it burned his throat for a moment before he got used to it. He catalogued it in his mind as the strangest kiss he had ever received. They stood there for a long while, connected at the lips, bodies pressed against each other for protection from the icy draft.

Harry felt as though something was charging up inside of him. Blood flowed heatedly throughout his arms and to his fingers that were placed possessively on Hermione's waist. Harry took a step toward her and she took a step back until Harry had pressed her against the bedpost.

Hermione moaned slightly against Harry's lips and it had an immediate effect on Harry. He intensified the kiss. Hermione gasped in surprise like she always did—as though she could barely believe it was all happening. Hardly knowing what he was doing, Harry trailed kisses across the corner of her lips to her ear. Hermione shuddered and pressed up against him, urging him to continue.

She shifted slightly and fell to the bed, taking an obliging Harry with her. The level of intimacy between them was unnerving. Harry tried to consider how strange it was that he was in Hermione's dormitory, on Hermione's bed, kissing Hermione's lips. This was his best friend, his very best friend. This was the same girl who had been so innocent and bossy on the Hogwarts Express in their first year. The same girl who gave him textbooks for Christmas and homework planners on his birthday. And now he was kissing her with the authority of love behind him. _He was a boyfriend._ Someone pivotal in her life, though he always had been since she was eleven. And this was his _girlfriend_. It was almost too normal, though at the same time his body and mind was racked with the most abnormal and exquisite sensations that he could only pray she felt too.

Harry lowered his hands and his lips, kissing the delicate skin at the base of her neck.

Hermione's hands tightened on his shoulders. If Harry had looked up, he would have seen the wondering look on her face.

"So…so I guess we're boyfriend and girlfriend now?" she asked laughingly, though a little breathlessly. She didn't know where Harry got so good at kissing, or maybe she didn't quite know what good kissing was…either way, Hermione was shivering from head to foot and a tight knot was unraveling inside of her, urging her to relax and soak up the sensations he was supplying.

Harry peered up and her.

"Er…I would say so….If you want to be…that is…" Harry said panting as he returned to her neck.

Hermione slipped out from under him and moved to the head of the bed.

She looked at him seriously. "I mean…just…what are we doing?"

Harry's arched brows descended slightly. "We're snogging?"

Hermione blushed. "I know that, idiot." Her demeanor returned quickly enough, however. "I mean…are we now a couple? One that will have to do couple-ly things? Like, we'll always have to eat together and you'll have to walk me to class everyday and I'll have to tell you where I am all the time and buy you meaningful presents for once?"

"You are really bad at giving presents…"

Hermione didn't smile, but leaned forward and took his hands.

"No, I'm serious!" she said sternly. "What are we?"

"We're anything you want us to be," Harry said seriously.

"What do _you_ want us to be?" Hermione returned.

"I want…wait…What do _you_ want us to be?"

"I'm asking you. I know what I want."

"Then why don't you tell me?" Harry said, perplexed.

"Because I want to know what _you_ want!"

Harry looked at Hermione. Her eyebrows pointed downward in barely concealed anxiety and her eyes were alight with something Harry couldn't begin to understand. Her lips and cheeks were pink from his ceaseless kissing. To Harry, she looked absolutely gorgeous right down to the flecks of dried toothpaste at the corner of her mouth.

He placed both his hands against her cheeks and brought her face to his. He kissed her softly and without the desperation and demand he had just displayed.

Their lips disconnected and Harry pulled away, still holding her face. With foreheads almost touching, Harry knew she was not breathing….very much like how she had not breathed when she first confessed she liked him on the dark stairway of the Boy's Dormitory.

He spoke slowly so that not only would she understand, but that she would know the significance of what he was about to say.

"Hermione… I know this is dating taboo and all, but I'm going to tell you something." Harry paused while Hermione swallowed and closed her eyes for a moment. "I don't say it a lot. No one's ever really asked me to say it. But I love you. I love you a lot. It's six thirty in the morning and I flew up to your window just to get a glimpse of you. You are always in my head. I wake up every morning wondering where you are and how soon I can see you. I stare at you when you aren't looking…I am _in love_ with you. I have been for longer than I want to admit."

Harry picked up Hermione's hands. Hermione stared at him.

"I want to be your boyfriend, if you'll have me."

Hermione turned her head to the side and bit her lower lip. For a long time she stayed like that. "Aren't you worried about what will happen?" she said, turning to him. "How things will be different…aren't you afraid that we can't go back to being friends ever again? It'll get awkward…"

Hermione looked away as though ashamed she doubted his affection for her. Harry paused before answering.

"You're afraid of change. I am too," Harry agreed.

"No, but what if you get _tired of me!_ Or you grow to resent me or something and we can't go back to the way things were?"

Harry finally felt they were getting to the real problem. "Why would I grow to resent you?"

"I don't know! It could be a million things. I'm bossy and nerdy; I've never had a real boyfriend…I'm not at all interesting…"

"Hermione, if I really thought you were boring, I wouldn't have been your friend for six years now. And of course you're bossy—it's part of your…charm and I'm glad you've never had a boyfriend. I don't like thinking about that."

"You're really not afraid?" Hermione said, looking at him imploringly.

"I'm really not," he told her softly as he moved in, his breath warm on her ear. "You're a little bossy. I'm manic-depressive. We both got our problems. We'll figure something out."

Hermione laughed lightly and leaned forward, resting her forehead on Harry's chest. Harry chuckled and the sound reverberated pleasantly near Hermione's ear.

"So you want me to be your girlfriend for sure? ...I'm not going to be easy on you," said her muffled voice.

"I never thought you would. And yes. I want you to be my girlfriend."

Hermione lifted her head up. "Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"No second thoughts?"

"None at all."

"What if…if Cho wanted you back…or Fluer Delacour would have you?"

Harry moaned. "It's too early in the morning to be thinking about either of them, Hermione!" He pressed his cheek against hers. "Are you going to say 'yes' to being my girlfriend or not because I'm not going to let you say 'no,'" he said tiredly.

"I may need convincing," Hermione said offhandedly.

Harry rolled his eyes and quickly reclaimed her lips with his. He pushed Hermione down on the mattress and pinned her arms above her head with one of his fumbling hands. Hermione struggled for only a moment before giving in to her best friend, now her boyfriend.

Five minutes of fervent kissing later, Harry whispered in her ear, "Have I convinced you?"

"You may have," she said. She moved her head to suck gently on his earlobe.

Several more minutes passed of pure hormonal ecstasy until finally Hermione pushed Harry off her and onto his back. Hermione threw an arm over Harry's chest while she settled underneath his arm and twined one of her legs with his. They held each other like two lovers, adjusting as quickly as they could to the new intimacy between them.

Harry was gently twirling a strand of her long hair between his fingers when Hermione spoke, breaking their silence.

"What will people say…about you and me?"

Harry considered this for the first time. The only opinion he had cared about was Ron's, and now that he had his blessing, there was no one left to consider.

"Well, I suppose they'll first assume that I did steal you from Ron after all…"

Hermione snorted slightly.

"Then I guess they'll say that we are the most attractive couple of the 20th century," said Harry with all seriousness.

Hermione giggled gently into his chest.

"And then the _Witch Weekly_ will magically determine what our children will look like."

Hermione laughed and picked up her head. She considered him for a moment.

"Let's hope for green eyes and black hair."

"Why? I love your eyes."

Hermione waited. "You don't love my hair?"

Harry sat up quickly. "No! I do…But, our hair are kindred spirits. They cannot be tamed by magic or Muggle. Either way, our kids are going to have wonky hair genes."

"That is true," Hermione laughed, pulling him back down. She kissed him lightly on his neck. "What time is it?"

Harry pulled his arm up lazily. "Holy shit! It's 9:40!"

"What?" said Hermione, shooting upright. "We can't have been in here three hours! I have to get dressed! You," she yelled, pointing at Harry, "you get out!"

"Fine, fine," Harry said, walking to the other side of the bed and picking up his Firebolt. "Just give me a kiss goodbye."

Harry moved to the window and faced Hermione. She stood on tiptoe to kiss him, placing both her hands behind his head and smoothing out his rumpled hair. Harry moved his hands down her camisole to her waist. He could feel the same need to press up against her and kiss her deeply pulse through his body. He was about to open his mouth to intensify the kiss, but Hermione beat him to it. She opened her lips and the heat between them grew.

They stayed like that another twenty minutes.

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When Harry and Hermione finally made their way to the Great Hall, it was nearly 10:30. They found only Ron seated at the long, empty Gryffindor table consumed in an issue of the _Prophet._ He hardly noticed his friends' arrival.

"Morning, Ron," said Harry complacently.

Ron looked up, startled. He looked momentarily glad to see them before a look of deep suspicion hardened his features. "Where were you two all this time? It's nearly lunch time."

"Is it?" said Hermione quickly. "With everything that's been going on, I think I must have gotten behind on sleep."

Ron looked at Harry as though expecting an explanation for his tardiness as well. Harry was too busy shoveling breakfast taters into his mouth. Apparently the house elves knew to send up breakfast food even when the hour was closer to an early lunch.

When Harry didn't reply, Ron asked, "And you were, Harry…?"

Harry looked momentarily at Hermione. "Owlery," said Harry. It sounded like a question.

One of Ron's reddish-blonde brows rose up and hid behind his wispy bangs. "For some reason, I don't believe that."

Hermione had the courtesy to blush.

"Where is everyone?" Harry asked, looking towards the Entrance Hall. "It's so damn quiet."

Ron looked towards the Entrance Hall as well. "Everyone left early this morning—I mean the ones who had to go. Snape, McGonagall, Lupin, Dumbledore—they're all still here and Mad-Eye. Somehow I think he's staying for longer than just the holiday."

Harry cringed slightly. "I don't much fancy him hanging around. He tends to follow me places and I have to pretend I don't know he's there even with all that clunking he makes."

Ron looked down to where he held the _Prophet_ in one hand.

"Moody's the least of you problems, I'd say. Look at the paper. I've never seen anything this big. Maybe when we were babies, but this is it—."

Ron shoved the paper over to Harry and Hermione. Harry felt his heart settle somewhere below his navel when his eyes made contact with the headline emblazoned in oozing black ink.

**TERROR SWEEPS ACROSS BRITIAN**

'**CHRISTMAS MASSACRES' DUBBED WORSE MASS KILLING SINCE YOU-KNOW-WHO'S REIGN. **

Harry stared for a moment at the headline. Already the nice tingling feeling that had stayed with him all morning was dissipating and something inside of him was coiling into a ball of fear again.

"Well, Happy Christmas then…" said Harry.

Hermione snatched the paper and began skimming over the story.

"Ok… 'Death Eaters believed to be the sole perpetrators.' That's good that they know that already. Ministry says this is full out war! Good Lord, this _is_ really it."

Harry craned his neck around Hermione's shoulder as Hermione turned to page two where the story continued. At the top was a list separated into three columns filled with names.

"Oh my…" said Hermione. She set down the paper and stood up to peer over it.

Harry stood up with her and began reading from the end of the list. His eyes passed over many names he didn't know. By some names the word "Muggle" was placed in parenthesis.

Hermione's head snapped up. "Have you read this list already?" she questioned tersely to Ron.

"No. I was just reading the front."

"Oh…"

"What's wrong?" asked Ron. He saw her eyes move swiftly to the right, towards Harry, then back down to the paper. Ron followed her eyes and his eyes landed on the words "Amelia Bones." Her name was followed by several other people with the surname Bones as well. His eyes passed and then returned to one particular name written in the delicate script of the Prophet's memorial font.

Susan Bones.

"Oh," said Ron, looking up at Hermione.

Harry was still reading from the end of the list. Ron stared at Hermione, wanting her to do something to stop Harry from reaching the name. She didn't however. She just stood there staring down at the sad catalogue of the dead.

Finally Harry got to the top of the list where the Bones clan was listed under two brothers with the last name Ambrose. Ron and Hermione heard Harry take in a breath sharply and hold it.

He looked up to find his two best friends' eyes watching him.

Harry's eyes stared between their heads as a cool wash of numbing ice seemed to slip down his shoulders. He sat down slowly.

Hermione followed suit and took his hand that was unnaturally stiff.

"We don't know what their motive was Harry. That family has always been on our side. It could be a 15-year vendetta he's fulfilling. It may have nothing to do with you."

Harry turned his head and looked at her—a look of incredulous disgust distorting his face.

"You always think such lovely thoughts."

Before either Ron or Hermione could say anything more, Harry stood suddenly, pushing the bench across the flagstone. He stormed away, his back a tight knot of familiar tension.

"Mmm, that's not good," said Ron.

"No it's not," agreed Hermione, looking down at the paper but taking nothing in.

Ron paused before asking, "Are you going to go talk to him or do we need to find Harry some happy pills."

Hermione looked up at him and said sarcastically, "Ron, don't pretend like you know what 'happy pills' are. You barely know what a pill is."

I  
I  
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Hermione's feet moved lightly on the rough stone as she searched for Harry. She had let him get a head start and get the worst of his guilt out of the way. It wasn't much of a head start, just two minutes, but she didn't want him to be alone for long. Now that she was his girlfriend, she felt an extra amount of resolve to follow him and make sure he wasn't doing anything horrible to himself.

When she found him by Firenze's indoor classroom, he was standing in the middle of the hall with his hands stuffed into his pockets, as though he had just stopped during a stroll.

"Harry," said Hermione as she walked towards him. "Harry."

She moved around to his front. His eyes were closed and his eyelashes were fluttering slightly as though he were in a dream. His nose and cheeks were flushed. Hermione knew these signs but had never seen them from Harry so close up. He was about to lose control. A band of salty water was already eking its way out from under each of his pale lids.

"Harry," Hermione repeated. She spread open her arms and wiggled them between Harry's sides and arms. She clasped him tightly yet he was entirely too stiff, like a tree.

Suddenly, Harry's chest and back heaved upward as Harry let out a bark-like sound from his throat. His hands flung themselves around Hermione and he dug his head into the crook of her delicate neck. He let out several dry sobs. The kind of sobs which sound so fake because they are too real to sound like eloquent, profound sobs. There was nothing eloquent about Harry's tears. They flooded out with all the strength of a sodden cloth being wringed out until nothing was left but a damp impression of what had been.

Hermione ran her fingers across his hair and shushed him as best she knew how, as though he were a child and not her 16-year-old boyfriend. He uttered a few words between his sobs.

"I've _killed_ her, Hermione. I've…"

Hermione shushed him softly.

"I've killed her…another, _another_person…"

Hermione shushed him again as he went into another long spell of dry, heaving sobs. It was very much like he was trying to catch his breath. His chest was so tight; Hermione could see how he was fighting to get air through his convulsive sobs.

As they began to die down, Hermione attempted to rationalize with him.

"Harry, you never _kill_ anyone. These things just happen because…"

"Because of me," Harry retorted angrily, pulling his head up.

"Yes…" said Hermione, "because of you. It is your fault. You asked Susan to a ball and now she's dead and it's you're fault. She dead because you danced with her. I'm sure that's what _everyone_ will think."

"You don't understand," Harry said loudly, pulling away from her and swiping quickly at his eyes. "YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND ANYTHING!"

Hermione stepped back, startled.

"I WAS WARNED, OK! LUPIN TOLD ME NOT TO DO THIS. BUT I JUST…I just…"

"What?"

"I wanted you for a partner. She was just a step down…" Harry's eyes shut tightly and his lips elongated. "I've killed her. I've killed her."

He was in her arms again. He began shaking uncontrollably. "She was such a nice girl... I've killed her," he whispered into her hair.

Harry sobbed for several more minutes and somehow he had pushed Hermione against the wall so that she found herself crushed under his weight. His body no longer held the barely restrained sexual vitality she experienced that morning. It was thick and coursing with tension and shame.

After a moment longer, Hermione said, "Harry… people are going to die. But never think you are the murderer. Every time someone dies for your life, for our cause…they're martyrs. They are martyrs because they know you'll save millions more."

"So that's what Susan thought just before they killed her, eh? That she was a martyr for Harry _fuckin' _ Potter!"

Harry pulled violently away from her, but she held on just as violently, bringing him back to her.

"No one ever knows what we'll be asked to do. Susan didn't know she'd have to die. But her death isn't in vain, Harry." She cupped his face in her hands. His cheeks were moist with the tracks of tears. She leaned forward and touched his swollen lips with her own.

Hermione pulled away and she thought for a moment that he might push her away again.

He didn't. His lips returned forcefully to hers with the lost intensity of someone who barely knows why he's doing anything, just that he must do something. Hermione gently stroked the nape of his neck while his lips fumbled against hers.

He pulled away after a moment and looked down at their bodies pressed closely together.

"I can't do this," he whispered and Hermione listened closely. "I can't justify all these deaths. I can't make their deaths mean…something."

Hermione interjected, not liking where this line of thought was taking him.

"You can and you will. You will because you must. A few people die now so you can be ready to face Voldemort one day. When you kill Voldemort you will be saving millions whom he would have killed. Some die so others may live."

Harry looked straight into her eyes, which were swimming with tears as well. Hermione had already noticed how his tears could ignite her own.

"I'm no murderer," he said.

"No, you're not," said Hermione, relieved they were making progress.

"But you would have me kill Voldemort?" said Harry.

Hermione hesitated only slightly. "To be a murderer you have to kill a man. Voldemort is a monster."

"That's what people like to believe," said Harry with despair creeping into his voice. "But he _is_ a man. A man much more talented and…braver than me. I cannot beat _that man_." He said this last desperately.

"No…you can't," said Hermione, looking at him dead on. "Not like this. Not with all this shame. You still haven't learned to trust yourself, have you?"

New tears coursed down Harry's cheeks and Hermione felt something sliding down her own cheeks as well.

"If you only saw what everyone else saw," Hermione said with a sniff. "If you could only see what I am _always_ seeing. I see a man who…who can love and who can feel…who knows what good is. That is worth more than talent and practice and bravery. There are more important things—like friendship, love, trust…"

Something stirred inside Harry as though he had heard those words before. Like they came from a distant memory. Distant time.

"And I love…I love you Harry…with everything," Hermione stammered. "That alone…that right there. I love you. That's something Voldemort doesn't have…something he can't get. He is alone. He is not brave. He just seems like it because he's practiced. He is not you and that is why he will lose. He has all the training, just none of the strength you have."

Harry sighed against her chest. "Hermione."

Hermione dragged her hand gently across his prone back.

"Hermione."

"What?"

"I'm sorry I yelled."

"Me too. You're loud."

l

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l

l

l

Hermione slipped her arm around Harry's waist as they headed back in the direction of the Great Hall.

As they turned the corner, Lupin was standing just before the great doors, surveying the inside, which was now empty.

He turned at the sound of their footsteps. "Harry! Hermione…There you are."

He took in Hermione's forced smile and Harry's rather listless look. "Is everything all right?"

"Yes," answered Hermione. "The news this morning was…awful," she offered as explanation.

"Yes," Lupin nodded.

Several moments passed while none of them knew how to continue. The unspoken thoughts were only of Susan.

Lupin cleared his throat, "Well, I was looking for you Harry. Mr. Arenso wants to see you this afternoon around four. He says to meet him at the Room of Requirement."

Harry head, which had snapped up at the name "Arenso" asked, "How does he know about that room?"

"Dumbledore suggested it."

"Oh."

"So four o'clock, yes?"

"Yes," Harry nodded.

Lupin departed quickly, heading towards Dumbledore's office.

"Arenso…" Hermione said wonderingly. "What's he like Harry?"

Harry shrugged.

Hermione's eyes widened. "You know, he was the only one I didn't see make it out of the fire…I suppose he's all right then."

Harry had not thought of that either. "I suppose he is."

"I've only seen him once, you know, when I was on the way to the bath. He seemed rather…I don't know…insubstantial? Like he wasn't really there…it's kind of creepy."

Harry finally seemed to be regaining his composure. Hermione noted how his demeanor changed when talking about his Unforgivable Curses teacher. "I know what you mean…the man makes no sound whatsoever, unless he's speaking. It's like he's a shadow. He told me some really weird things, too. Things that don't make sense…"

"Like what?" said Hermione curiously.

"Well, for one, he said that he helped invent the Cruciatus Curse."

Hermione's reaction was the same as Harry's. "But that can't be right. He's so young, and I _know_ the curse was invented centuries ago."

"Yeah, it was invented in the 1400s." At Hermione's perplexed look he added, "I was researching it in the library at Grimmuald Place."

"You were in the library?" she said looking shocked.

"What do you think I was doing in there?"

"Oh yeah, I'd forgotten why you were there, just what happened after that…" She smiled shamefully. "Well I'll look in my notes and see if it's there, but if not, then you should ask him to explain what he meant by 'invented' because that honestly doesn't make any sense at all."

"I doubt it will be in your notes if it wasn't in all those Dark Arts books in Sirius' library."

"You never know, we took pretty detailed notes on it back in fourth year, if you remember."

Harry didn't, but nodded anyway.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Yah know, 'Arry," said Ron after a while, his cup in his hand, "I don't trust this Arenso guy all that much."

"Why not?" said Harry not surprised, as he moved his rook to take Ron's knight. Harry had just told them both of his two previous encounters with Arenso, neither hearing about it before due to their prolonged fight at Grimmuald Place. Both had been stunned to learn that Arenso had performed the Cruciatus Curse on Harry within five minutes of meeting him and equally astonished when he had been so calm and almost polite upon their second meeting.

"Well, he seems a bit bi-polar doesn't he?" said Ron as he looked over the board. "Not to mention…there's something about him that's just not right…in your story it sounds almost like he knows too much about you…like he knew what was in your head. You don't suppose he's a Legilmens do you?"

"I dunno," said Harry, slightly uncomfortable. He had not mentioned what Arenso had said concerning his abandoned headache spell and that was the main reason that Arenso had been delving into Harry's head.

"Well…" said Hermione from the couch where she was reading her Potions textbook. "He may be a little weird, but he's here to help Harry, so we should trust him until he gives us reason not to."

Ron let an exaggerated sigh.

"If that's your policy on Snape, fine," retorted Ron scathingly, looking up from the board. "But this isn't Snape we're talking about, Hermione. Snape may be downright nasty, but he isn't teaching Harry the Unforgivable Curses. Don't you think we should be more careful around this Arenso person? I mean, he thinks he's six hundred years old and doesn't have a shadow or whatever! Don't you think that sends up a red flag?"

Hermione opened her mouth to counter, but before she could, Harry intervened.

"He reminds me a lot of Sirius."

"What?!" said Hermione and Ron together, both looking at him as though he were mad.

"For no real reason," Harry added hastily. "It's more his eyes and his voice. They just make me trust him. I sort of feel…safer with him around."

Ron and Hermione, surprised he was even mentioning Sirius, stared at him for several seconds before Ron seemed to come to some conclusion.

"You see, that's another thing. I get the feeling he's playing off your emotions, mate. He's trying to gain your trust before he strikes," stated Ron matter-of-factly.

"Oh, please," said Hermione exasperatedly. "Attack? The man's going to _teach_ Harry _how_ to attack. As far as I'm concerned, Arenso is teaching Harry the most important thing he's learned to date. He may be a bit unorthodox…"

"Unorthodox! He laid the _Crucio _on Harry and you say that's just unorthodox?!" Ron shouted.

"Well, well," sputtered Hermione, her voice rising shrilly, "if that's what it takes!"

Harry smiled despite himself as he watched them; it was good to know things hadn't changed all that much.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Harry ate a late lunch with Ron and Hermione before heading to the Room of Requirement for his lesson. Ron had told him to keep his wand at the ready and Hermione had simply rolled her eyes and told him to be careful.

When he had arrived, a little past four, the sun was already beginning to diminish behind the stoic row of trees outside a nearby window. The orange light flooded the hall where Harry stood looking at the blank wall directly across from the tapestry of a wizard teaching trolls ballet.

"Err—" said Harry, staring at the stone. He wasn't really sure how to enter the room. It wasn't like _he_ needed something out of it. Arenso needed something.

Either way, Harry moved to one side of where the door would appear and began to pace in front of it, thinking.

_I need Arenso's room. The room where he'll teach me the Unforgivable Curses. I need to get inside Arenso's room. _

Harry opened his eyes upon his third passing. No door had appeared.

Frowning, Harry tried again, wondering what he would do if he couldn't get inside. Go back to the Common Room? Or would he have to tell Dumbledore or Lupin he couldn't get inside the room.

Again, the wall remained blank.

Harry moved towards the wall and ran his hand over its rough texture. It had worked so many times for all the DA meetings. What had changed?

"You can't get in like that," said a soft voice.

Harry spun. Arenso was leaning against a section of wall between two torches submerged in darkness. His dark tresses hung suspended in front of his gray eyes. He was again dressed only in black.

"What?" said Harry, bewildered. He removed his hand from the wall.

The corners of Arenso's mouth lifted just slightly. Harry felt he was laughing at him.

"You need to pass by the wall three times, thinking of what you need," he replied coolly.

Annoyance stirred inside Harry. "I know that. I've used…"

Harry didn't continue, not sure he should tell him of his previous needs for the room.

"It just won't work for me because it's you who needs the room for something. You'll have to do it and think of what the room needs," explained Harry stiffly. "I wouldn't know…"

"Just think something up. I don't care."

When Harry looked at him incredulously, Arenso's liquid smile only widened.

"Go ahead."

Slightly on edge, Harry closed his eyes and paced in front of the hidden door three more times, trying to concentrate on what could possibly be needed for his lesson.

_Er, let it have everything I need to learn the Unforgivable Curses, I suppose…_Harry thought lamely until a thought struck him. _But let it also be safe, like it'll have an easy escape route or something…let Arenso not know about that…_

Harry opened his eyes and faced an arched, oak door set perfectly in the wall inlaid with ornate wrought-iron hinges.

Harry turned to Arenso who stared at him with a pronounced look of detachment.

"Go in."

Harry's hand clamped around the cold ring and pulled the door open. At first he saw nothing, only darkness. But then a deep red glow sparked into life and as Harry stepped inside, the room grew slightly brighter.

There was not a single window in the entire room and the granite walls near the door were rough and sparkled slightly in the light. The very center of the room was submerged in darkness. Harry looked to the corners, the walls, the ceiling. There was nothing whatsoever inside the large space. He could not even tell how large the room was. The walls seemed to be same consistency as the air; they seemed to stretch on endlessly.

He heard the door close with a muted thud and the light from the hallway was cut off entirely.

Harry turned on his heel. Arenso was standing directly behind him, the crimson glow shining gently on his hair.

"Would you stop doing that!" Harry said rather loudly, backing away. The sound didn't echo. "That's really...weird."

Arenso only smiled.

He walked to the center of the room and only the outline of his pale face was recognizable in the darkness. Arenso's head lowered so that it appeared he was sitting, but Harry could not see on what. Harry could barely see his hand in front of him.

"Come sit," he said and Harry moved hesitantly into the darkness. His hand reached out for a chair but felt nothing.

"I don't have a chair."

"Do you believe it will not come if you call it?" he said incredulously.

"What?"

Harry's foot bumped something—the slender leg of a chair. Harry had not moved.

"How did you do that?"

"I didn't. You called it."

"I did not," Harry said testily.

The outline of the chair faded and disappeared. Confused, Harry stared where he thought the chair had been.

"I did?" said Harry. The chair returned. Harry blinked trying to see where it had come from. "How…?"

Arenso looked to the west wall, the one on which the door was encased. A steady orange light peeked just beneath the doorframe.

"Many would have you think that an Unforgivable Curse is a curse," Arenso said, not taking his eyes from the door. Harry stared at what he could see of Arenso. "Something that with the right incantation and a wand can be performed as much as the caster likes. The chair you called exists because you needed it. Magic called it but it did not come from a wand. I want you to remember that a wand is an instrument of magic. It is not where magic comes from. It was made by man and thereby has man-made faults.

"To achieve what you want from the three curses: _Imperio, Crucio_, and _Avada Kedavra_ you can't rely on your wand. If you do, you will die."

"So, what do you rely on?" asked Harry, cautiously taking a seat on the chair.

Arenso did not reply. The twinkle in his dark eyes moved in Harry's direction.

"There are two, and only two ways, to perform an Unforgivable Curse. One is by an extreme act of hatred. The second by an extreme sense of need. The most powerful Unforgivable Curses are produced from an extreme sense of hate _and _need. Those never happen. You will never be able to do it."

Harry was too confused to be indignant.

"Now," said Arenso leaning against the back of his own chair and crossing his arms, "I am going to ask you one question. If you do not answer honestly I will never teach or see you again." Harry nodded, half thinking that wouldn't be much of a loss. "If you answer honestly, I will not only make you the most powerful student in this school, I will make you so powerful that your every opponent will fear your name and face."

Harry stared at the man's red outline. A dark tingling curved down his spine and the promise of unimaginable power exhilarated him inside the walls of his veins.

Harry felt Arenso's eyes probe deeply inside him.

"You want that very badly."

"No," Harry denied, sensing the lie in his voice.

"Then you will fail."

Harry remained silent.

"Here is my question, will you answer it?"

Harry nodded.

"Who do you _want_ to kill?"

Harry blinked. The question was so simple.

"Voldemort, unquestionably," Harry replied.

"Yes," said Arenso. A cool smile widened his taunt face. "Who else?"

"Who else?" said Harry.

Was there someone else? As soon as Harry thought it, he knew there was.

"Bellatrix Lestrange."

"Who else?"

The words were there before Harry even thought them. "Lucius Malfoy."

"Who else?"

"Every Death Eater that ever lived."

"Who else?"

Harry hesitated before saying, "A professor of mine. My potions professor."

"Mmm."

Harry stopped, surprised at himself. But he knew it was true. He'd always known it and only felt a slight twinge of shame in admitting it.

Harry saw a small smile rise on Arenso's face and Harry once again felt that Arenso was laughing at him.

"You're a very violent teenager, Harry."

Harry flushed. "Well…if you had any idea of the shit I've been through in my life, you'd be pretty violent too," Harry said hotly.

Arenso's eyes took on a more dangerous glow. His smile only grew and Harry got the impression he had just said something very stupid and Arenso found his naïveté amusing.

"Well," Arenso whispered, "you answered my questions honestly. I will keep my promise."

A new tingle found its way up Harry's back, this one sending a cold dread to his brain. Perhaps he should have lied.

"The first thing I will teach you is how not to use your wand. In my opinion, it is something everyone should learn but very few have the aptitude for it. You do."

Harry felt a stirring of pride replace that dread.

"You'll find this room is perfectly situated for our purposes. It is in a state of 'heightened magic'. Things will come easier to you in this room than in the outside and one day you will be good enough so that your very self will be in a state of heightened magic. You understand very little of what I am saying…?"

Harry nodded reluctantly. Arenso returned it.

"You won't understand, not entirely, until you are done with me. Let me put it like this, for now. Very few people in the world are in a state of heightened magic. Even fewer know what it is. Almost no one in this school is in a state of heightened magic—that is no teacher and no student— though some do have the potential for it. There are only two people in Britain who are in the 'state'. You know them very well, I am sure. One is your headmaster and one is your favorite enemy."

Harry was not surprised.

"I want you to think of your headmaster. He is powerful beyond belief, is he not? Well, he's not just talented. He is of an elite order of men who exude magic constantly from their very skin like sweat. Your headmaster could do magic in his sleep and I'm quite sure he does. He has no use for a wand. He only uses one so that others will not be terrified of him.

"People have always been afraid of wizards like your headmaster—those who can kill and do kill with a mere thought.

"Wizards who are in a heightened magical state are part of the society called _Magne Vereor_ or _Magne Viscus; _and the magic the Magnes perform is called _sangre magia,_ meaning the power that comes from them, comes from their blood, not their wands.

"It isn't some well-established secret society. There are no monthly meetings. No special rituals. But those who are in this loose order know everyone else in it. There are so few members.

"Magnes are unbeatable in every way; they possess a depth of knowledge that is unfathomable. It was once said that the more a man knows of his world, the more he grows to despise it. And so this holds true with the Magne Vereor. Many become reclusive killers, malefactors of gore and destruction. They take joy in harnessing the strange _sangre magia_ for their purposes. They never understand it, but it is the only thing they respect. Crimes of envy, rage, and lust. The holy magic inside their veins turns to swirling smoke that clogs all the good one could find in their soul, if there was any.

"They hate with such an intense passion that it is said their powers multiply ten thousand fold. Thus, when performing certain spells—like Avada Kedavra—they do not just kill one person, but an entire family, an entire neighbourhood, an entire village if it is their wish."

Harry felt another cool thrill of blood rushing through him.

"Do you understand why they have earned this…reputation, can we say? The Magnes are mostly the stuff of lore now. With the modernization of man, the evils came as well. Magnes began to be hated more and more instead of feared. Ordinary wizards deluded themselves, thinking that together they could kill the most powerful of Magnes. They were fools. No ordinary wizard has ever killed a Magne. Not ever. Most Magnes simply choose to hide their superior powers and fulfill their dark desires quietly so that society may flatter itself with its 'victory' over the men who had so long wrought their lives with terror."

Arenso glanced at Harry.

"Oh, don't look so worried Harry," he said with a bark-like laugh, shaking back his hair. "None of that has ever happened to your headmaster. And it certainly won't happen to you being the fine, upstanding little gentleman you are."

Harry glared.

"I simply wished to inform you of what you're getting into. I think I was being quite fair."

"Oh quite," said Harry making sure the bite in his voice was evident. "And this is what you want to make me into? Some crazed monster? Some lunatic wizard who kills with his imagination, is that it? Well, I won't have it. I can tell you that now, I won't have it."

Harry crossed his arms over his chest, hoping impetuosity hid fear.

Arenso laughed again, this time louder than before. It was a beautiful laugh. "You are such a child, Harry! Did I not just tell you that no ordinary wizard has ever defeated a Magne, a practitioner of the _sangre magia_? I hate to break it to you, but you _are_ an ordinary wizard. You are a _boy_—A boy with all the rages and impulses of any regular teenage wizard. And you think you can honestly defeat Lord Voldemort, a wizard of the Magne Vereor?" His eyes laughed at him. "You do not have a choice! From what I understand, you're under quite a deadline. You need to kill and kill fast, don't you Chosen-One? There is only one way to kill the Dark Lord and that's by becoming a Magne yourself. So I'm afraid 'I won't have it' just isn't going to flow with the rest of the wizarding world, if you know what I mean."

There was no arguing the point.

"How long does it take to become a Magne?"

"A lifetime."

"Oh, well then…" Harry mumbled sarcastically.

"I can't promise miracles and I don't mean to brag, but I am a fantastic teacher. You will be ready in time if you do everything I say. You must never question. You must spend these hours in reverence to the _sangre magia_. It is the only way the holy magic will come to replace the dirtied blood in your veins."

Harry had always been told his blood was special. It felt odd to hear it called dirty. What was even odder was that Harry believed it. In this room, this room in which the air seemed to vibrate with barely controlled magic, Harry felt very low, very unworthy.

"What makes the _sangre magia_ so holy? What makes it so different from regular magic?" Harry probed.

"Every wizard has _sangre magia_ in him…in varying amounts. In the era of the great wizards, thousands of years ago, the only magic that existed was _sangre magia_. It was considered an art, a way of life that every wizard devoted his existence to. Then at about the same time a few Anglo-Saxon wizards of this country founded your school, the _sangre magia_ was slowly becoming corrupted.

"Wizards were killed in constantly higher numbers. The Magnes (nearly every wizard was a Magne) believed it immoral to kill a Muggle and so many became martyrs for their moral idiocy. Still more and more began to fall in love with the non-magical, the same people who were so very determined to purge them from existence. The corrupted blood of Muggles forever weakened the holy magic. Slowly, throughout the centuries, the _magia_ was reduced to a diluted state of magical mediocrity."

He stopped here to take in Harry's expression.

"Whatever decency has taught you, forget it now. There is no political correctness in this room. There will never be any political correctness to you again. Muggles made wizards weak. They _are_ the reason. One could argue that if perhaps wizards had not fallen in love with their inferiors, it would never have occurred. But there is no justifying for love. Love loves what it will." He sounded tired as he said it.

"Your girlfriend has the weakest blood among all wizards. _Two Muggle parents_?" He said this with disgust. "A remote magical relative and luck has led her to you. She is not so much talented as clever and hardworking.

"With her application, you would be a much better wizard than she could ever hope to be simply because, until your mother, you came from a very long line of pure-blood wizards. You are descendent from a Magne. A very great one. But you have none of his talent. Your mother's blood is your protection and curse. It will make our work harder. Her blood has done all it can for you. It is no longer an obstacle to the one you wish to destroy. It is only an obstacle to you now."

Harry did not ask how he knew all this. He thought of Hermione. Would she be indignant? Resigned? There was nothing he could do to change Hermione's past. She was the girl he loved. But still, he felt a primal stirring of resentment towards her. He had no reason. One of Hermione's magical relatives had simply fallen for a village Muggle and had thereby permanently corrupted her family line until centuries later the old magical gene was born again from two Muggle parents. Harry shook his head very slightly. He could not condemn her because her ancestors had succumbed to love. Had he not as well? If he and Hermione ever had children, Harry thought with great discomfort, he would further be corrupting his own magical line. He suddenly felt a chord of kinship with the faraway Magnes who had so long ago fallen for Muggles. He could not judge them. Harry would have done the same, in fact, he hoped to.

The room had somehow grown brighter or Harry's eyes were now adjusted to the darkness. He could make Arenso out much better, the crimson glow from the walls playing off his jaw line and curls.

"Now, all you have known of magic to this point is that if you say a spell and wave your wand something will happen, correct?"

Harry nodded.

"That was never how magic was meant to be performed. There is too much foolishness between the caster thinking the spell and the spell actually happening. The _sangre magia _has no obscure incantations, no useless wand-waving. No voice. No sound. Magic is silent power. Silent power. I will have to teach you to close your lips and use only your heart. Does this make any sense to you?"

"It does," Harry answered, "but I don't see how..."

"You will see how," Arenso said. "No more; you may leave."

The lesson ended so abruptly that Harry did not move right away. He had forgotten his restlessness to leave. He felt they had finally been getting to the point of his lessons.

Harry got up and moved to the door.

"Sir?" Harry said turning, halfway from the door. "You said that the Magnes belong to two Orders, right?"

Arenso nodded. "The Magne Viscus and Magne Vereor."

"So when I become a Magne, does it matter which Order I'm in?"

"I believe you'd think that it would. I use the two names interchangeably, but let there be no blurring the lines between the two. _Magne Viscus_ means Great Heart. _Magne Vereor_ means Great Fear."

Harry's mind seemed to understand the words Arenso said before they reached his ears.

"The Dark Lord belongs to the Vereor Order. Which one do you want to belong to?" One of Arenso's eyebrows rose for his reaction. His smile returned.

Harry assumed this question must be rhetorical.

"Until next time, sir," Harry said, striding to the door and closing it behind him with thud.

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Harry felt strange the rest of the day.

He felt warmer than he usually did, as though the castle was in the height of summer and not in the troughs of a particularly chilly December. He didn't feel like he had a fever. He wasn't even sweating. Just warm.

He returned to the common room, noticing how the sun was still orange and shining brightly on the windowpanes he passed.

Harry crawled through the portrait hole, expecting to see Hermione and Ron waiting for him and eager to hear how the lesson went. No one was there. Assuming they were at the Library or at Hagrid's, Harry moved towards the fire. He was about to settle himself in a chair farther away from the fire than he usually sat, when the sounds of two people crawling through portrait hole reached him.

Ron came out first, Hermione following just after him.

"You never think below the surface, do you?" Hermione said as she extended a leg to touch the floor and pull herself through. "There something going on and they aren't going to…"

It was then she caught sight of Harry on the couch.

"Harry!"

"What are you doing here?" said Ron with a confused expression on his face.

"You're going to be late for you lesson!" Hermione said with exasperation as she walked towards him.

"What lesson?" said Harry, looking at her strangely.

"Arenso's lesson, you idiot. You don't need to piss him off anymore," she said.

"That? I already finished it. I just got back."

"What, it only lasted ten minutes?" said Ron, coming to stand by Hermione.

"No…" said Harry slowly, looking at them as though they were crazy. "I was in there like an hour."

"No you weren't," said Ron and Hermione together.

"Yes, I was! I think I would know!" said Harry indignantly.

"Look, Harry," said Hermione, as she grabbed his wrist. She shoved his watch under his nose. "It's only 4:15. You couldn't have been in there an hour. You lesson started at four."

Harry stared at the watch's smooth surface. "That can't be right."

"Whoa, so you're saying you were in there an hour, but you've only been gone 15 minutes?" said Ron with a sort of reverent awe in his voice as he looked at Harry.

"Looks like it," said Harry, plopping down on the sofa.

"Did Arenso tell you he was going to stop time or something?" asked Ron.

Hermione snorted. "You just can't _stop _time, Ron. You can only move backwards and forwards in it, like my old time-turner."

"Arenso didn't tell me anything like that, but I guess that's what happened…"

Silence followed this statement, Harry trying to understand how his hour with Arenso, now didn't "technically" happen.

Silence.

"Okay, I'm just going to say the obvious here," said Ron, matter-of-factly. "This guy is a class A nut-job. Seriously. I don't trust him."

Hermione sighed loudly.

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"You're so warm," said Hermione in awe as she moved a hand to his forehead while simultaneously kissing his neck.

"Am I? Well that shouldn't be surprising," said Harry with a grin. He slipped a hand up her loose shirt and dragged his fingertips up her spine.

Hermione shivered violently and physically removed Harry's hand. "No, you're abnormally warm. Are you sick?"

"No, mother."

"Mother?"

That distracted her enough and inspired five minutes of completely un-maternal kissing.

They had about an hour before dinner and Harry and Hermione had rendezvoused in the deserted library. Being a prefect, Hermione had a key—a key she would never normally exploit for such a lewd act as snogging Harry, but she made exceptions when she felt like it. And now, she felt like it.

She felt slightly guilty for leaving Ron alone in the common room. She had excused herself to the library, and Harry said he was going to say 'Merry Christmas' to Dobby. Two perfectly ridiculous excuses that she was sure Ron didn't believe for a second. But she noticed that new couples, like she and Harry, often had little regard for anyone besides themselves. She was sure her new inconsiderate nature would die down soon enough…once she got used to the idea that Harry was her boyfriend. But for now, she had to make the most of her resources while she could. She had no homework. No responsibilities. And an empty library.

There was really only one thing to do.

Hermione was currently pinned between Harry's body and a bookcase containing nothing but books on the history of wizarding medical practices, which included quite a few books on anatomy which seemed to fit the circumstances.

Hermione could tell Harry was still very new to the arts of snogging, but then again, so was she. She was quickly learning that Harry was often the aggressor, and she, consequently, felt stupid that she lacked the bravery or imagination to turn the tables and place herself in charge, as she was sure Harry would have appreciated.

Part of her inability, however, was due to the fact that Harry was so enthusiastic.

Hermione had a very sensitive neck, which Harry discovered almost instantly. Already he had learned how to kiss her there without making her laugh and squirm away. Currently, he was alternating between sucking on one particularly sensitive spot and then biting it gently, or harder if she pressed roughly on his back. It was a very pleasant feeling, and Hermione was sure she'd get a hickie…her first one. Her first ever hickie from Harry.

She would have giggled aloud, except that just then, Harry's lips returned to her mouth. He had kissed her dozens of times now, but each one felt different, as if he found different ways to attack her. She always gasped, as Harry liked to point out. And indeed, she gasped this time, swallowing her giggles, and causing her lips to vibrate against his mouth. In her confusion, his tongue had found its way inside her mouth and ran against her teeth, which felt oddly nice.

On impulse, Hermione lightly bit his tongue, just enough so that he would feel a little pain. Harry pulled away from her.

"What was that for?" he whispered loudly. There was no one to hear them, but the whispering made it seem more dangerous.

Hermione simply stared at him, the essence of innocence in an entirely un-innocent situation.

Harry's brows furrowed before he reclaimed her lips. This time Hermione did not open her mouth even as Harry pressed against her, urging her to comply. After a few more moments of Harry's vain attempts, he pulled his head back.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"I didn't give you permission to French me."

"Oh, I see. Am I supposed to ask every time? That ruins the mood."

Hermione paused, moving her hands slowly up to Harry's chest. "You cannot _French_ me because…because I am not French."

"Are you serious!" Harry asked, exasperated yet smiling.

Hermione simply grinned at his frustrated and blushing face.

Harry touched his sweaty forehead to hers and one of the corners of his lips lifted. "You are English aren't you?"

"Quite."

"Then, may I English you?"

Hermione considered this for a moment, twisting her head away from Harry's. Somewhere, in the back of her mind she thought that she had never had such a superfluous conversation, and how nice it felt to flirt with Harry.

"Harry Potter, I would love it if you Englished me."

Harry smiled and gently stroked her sides with his palms. "What exactly does that involve?"

Hermione hadn't thought that far. "Um…the same thing, only less French."

"Oh, well then. That's perfectly clear," Harry said with sarcasm.

This time Hermione leaned forward first and claimed his lips. He was momentarily stunned before a low, appreciative rumble came from his chest. She felt his tongue enter her mouth and the kiss intensified. It was a slow, meandering kiss that seemed to push all the blood from Hermione's head to her fingers. She felt warm and lost. She tried hard to think of something else while Harry kissed her, to keep her head from swimming dangerously, but she couldn't and this filled her with a sort of unexplainable elation. Harry's kisses could clear her mind like nothing else. Nothing really seemed to matter but him. The sticky moistness of his lips. The feel of his palm running up her sides. The way he tried to push the boundaries, the way he found new ways to surprise her.

There were moments that seemed to border on the sublime. With Harry's body pressed hotly against hers and his kisses slow and purposeful—Hermione was _overcome_. She knew she would never want to kiss any other lips but his.

This kiss was rapidly heating up. Harry placed one hand behind her neck and tilted her head. His fingers played with the strands of hair at the nape of her neck. His other hand was placed awkwardly on her hip, as though he wasn't sure where he could put it safely.

Hermione hardly noticed. The heat radiating from Harry was beginning to warm her as well, particularly in her stomach. A warm, sloshy feeling—strange and unfamiliar. The feeling seemed to flow directly to her lips, as they grew more sensitive to Harry's persistent ones. She opened her mouth wider and let her mind sink back into further oblivion.

A moment later and without planning it, Hermione gently bit Harry's bottom lip. Just a slight tug.

Harry responded with more force than she intended. A low grunt escaped from his lips as Harry pressed his hips against hers. It was then Hermione first noticed something off. It seemed to be that the source of Harry's heat was radiating from his lower half. But even more unfamiliar was the hardness of Harry's crotch pressed against hers. She thought for one bewildering moment that there was something in the pocket of his jeans. But then it was unmistakable.

Hermione wasn't naïve. She knew what this was. But it's always an experience when a girl first realizes she has the power to do…that to a boy. A girl can always hide her desire. A boy cannot. Hermione smiled against his lips. She suddenly felt she wasn't so useless.

She waited for Harry to push against her again. But he didn't. He was trembling slightly. Suddenly, old memories seemed to surface in the watery mess of her mind. She remembered the many late-night conversations she had overheard between Lavender and Parvati. Stories about how boys would press up against you urgently to show they were turned-on. How you were supposed to meet them halfway to fuel that desire.

But Harry had not moved. He simply stood there, his body pressed against hers, stroking the nape of her neck with his fingertips. He was breathing heavily. Testing the waters, Hermione pressed against him, gently nudging his crotch with her own. Instantly, a warm, illicit shiver moved up her back.

Harry let out another grunt.

Before Hermione could react, Harry's hands moved to her thighs, yanking them up to his waist and lifting her off the ground.

"Ah—Harry what!" whispered Hermione. She instinctively wrapped her legs around Harry's waist and linked her arms behind his neck.

Harry spun on the spot and set her down on one of the nearby study desks. The desk was frigid, sending goose bumps up her thighs. Harry let go of her and quickly pulled his shirt, moist with perspiration, over his head and threw it behind him.

He moved closer to her again, ready to finish what he had started. But he stopped when he saw Hermione's face.

She was staring at his chest as though she had never known what was exactly under a boy's shirt.

"What?" said Harry with a grin as positioned himself in front of Hermione on the desk.

Hermione was still staring. "Why did you do that?"

Harry stared at her in return. "Because it was hot?"

Hermione's lips stretched slowly over her teeth. She grinned ecstatically, and then tried to hide it. Then the grin returned in full force.

"What?" said Harry, this time without any of the cockiness he displayed moments before.

"Oh, it's nothing…" Hermione stammered, her face still plastered with a ridiculous grin. "It's just that…that…"

Hermione didn't know quite what to say. She took in Harry's chest. It was the chest of someone who had spent much of his life underfed and skinny. The chest of someone who had gained the muscles of pre-adulthood. Long, slender muscles that fit his sinewy frame perfectly. His well-defined pectorals were not lost on her, or the flat definition of his stomach. It was a very lovely chest.

Hermione suddenly felt very self-conscious. She honed in on one flaw.

"You're so pale."

"What?" said Harry indignantly, crossing his arms over his chest as if to hide it from sight.

"Well, you are," giggled Hermione lightly. "You could attract moths with skin like that."

"What! No I could not. I'm just…well there's—"

Hermione started laughing; she slid off the desk and separated Harry's stiff arms. She hugged him, letting her head rest for the first time on his smooth, firm, albeit pale chest.

"I like it very much."

Harry moved away from her. "No too late. Obviously, I'm not tan enough to please you."

He lunged for his shirt, but Hermione laughed and pulled him back to her.

"No, I _do_ like it," she assured him, passing her hands over his chest and feeling the short hairs that slid beneath her palms. "Besides, I would be very sad if you put your shirt back on. I've never…touched you like this before," she said blushing furiously.

Harry sighed through his relieved grin and kissed her forehead. They stayed like that for several minutes, Harry adjusting to the feeling of her cool hands on his chest. She laid one hand over his heart and felt it march inside his chest. Harry moved his left hand to her heart as well and pressed gently to feel her quick vibrations raise his fingertips. They stood like that for several moments, pressing against each other's hearts.

Hermione watched as Harry's hand slowly moved lower. His fingers passed hesitantly over her left breast before he dragged it quickly down to her waist.

Hermione stared at him for a second, a look of pure incredulity on her face from her wide eyes to her open mouth. Slowly, her lips closed and widened into a smile.

She tried her best to contain her laughter. "Harry…did you just try to feel me up?"

"Was that too French?"

Hermione laughed aloud.

"You know," said Harry, "it seems a little unfair that I'm half-naked in front of you, letting you appreciate _my_ paleness. But, I have no idea how pale you are."

Hermione slapped his hand away from her waist. "Pervert!" she laughed, turning away.

Hermione slipped out from the Medical Section alcove and moved down between the aisles towards the exit. Harry chased her, grabbing her around the waist as Hermione laughed and attempted to free herself.

Harry quickly pushed her up against another row of books, this time a row of Charm spells. Harry's bare chest rubbed against her cotton sweater and Hermione felt the familiar stiffness of Harry's groin and she laughed lightly in her head, as Harry's head lowered to hers.

It was all very nice until the main door to the Library creaked open and Professor McGonagall stood before the stunned couple. Light from the hallway shone mercilessly on them, transforming Harry's chest into a beacon of resplendent paleness.

"Potter! Granger?!" she nearly shrieked in flustered shock. "What on earth? Separate immediately!"

Hermione practically shoved Harry off of her and turned to the deputy headmistress in shame, her head down.

This left Harry in a state of half-naked confusion.

McGonagall simply looked at him with contempt, as if she were Hermione's mother and he was the boy who was corrupting her precious daughter.

She shook her head. "My God, Potter, clothe yourself this instant. You both are wanted in the Great Hall."

She turned and strode out of the room.

"It was hot!" Harry called.

Hermione snorted under her breath.

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Believe it or not, this is my first post since book six came out in 2006. Needless to say I was utterly crushed by the couples and the dilution of Hermione's character. Then…of course…the interview. Needless to say, I was short on inspiration while bemoaning H/Hr. I still feel half-ridiculous for still believing it'll turn out our way in the end….Why do I always pick the wrong couple….

I had fun with this chapter. Even liberated since there's not as much pressure to follow canon when canon probably isn't going to turn on H/Hr. People always ask me why I didn't like book 6 and when I say Harry/Ginny at the top of my list, they always scoff, saying that shouldn't affect my love of the book. Well it does. Romance always does. It should never be discounted. Grrr. Either way, this summer is going to amazing.

-Michelle


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